


Always Back To You

by flyingsolo_flyingfree



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Barebacking, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Switching, seriously this is the epitome of h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 12:54:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5128376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingsolo_flyingfree/pseuds/flyingsolo_flyingfree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve would've spent his entire life looking for the Winter Soldier, looking for <i>Bucky</i>, but it turns out he doesn't have to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Back To You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seoulreapers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seoulreapers/gifts).



> Please be aware: This does include pretty lengthy descriptions of panic attacks. I know this is something that people frequently write about, especially with Bucky, but believe me when I say I'm well acquainted with this topic; for me, it wasn't a matter of scoping the internet for what the experience is like. That said, of course it's not a universal experience for everyone. But I want to make it clear that this is a topic I know; for some, it may sound eerily familiar. If it's something that would set you off, _please_ proceed with caution. 
> 
> This is for Hillary. I hope the ending gives you cavities. Also for Hillary: "The Winter Shoulder and Stevie Rogers used to be best friends back when Stevie was 100 pounds soaking wet." And also also, man buns.

Steve would’ve spent his entire life looking for the Winter Soldier, looking for _Bucky_ , but it turns out he doesn’t have to.

He comes home one night and the door’s ajar, just a crack. Given how exhausted Steve is, there’s a chance he wouldn’t have noticed it, or that he would’ve seen it but assumed maybe he forgot to lock the door (somewhere, Natasha’s shrieking that he’s gonna get himself killed). Except that there’s a bloody handprint smeared on his doorknob. That one, he notices.

He doesn’t like carrying a gun; he doesn’t have his shield. For his commute from Manhattan to Brooklyn, he typically doesn’t need it. He spent a day hashing things out with Fury, who found out that Steve was looking for Bucky and threw a hissy fit. Really, Steve’s surprised he went under the radar for as long as he did. Natasha agreed to be as covert as possible and with Natasha, that means _covert_. But  SHIELD has eyes and ears everywhere, and Steve knew it was going to get out eventually. He was more than ready to face the consequences.

So after his meeting, which was a four-hour long slap on the wrist for disobedience (really, Steve got off much easier than he thought he would), Steve’s a little surprised when he walks in and finds the man he’s been searching for, bleeding out on his living room carpet.

He spends a split second thinking about the fact that it could very well be a trap, and then he decides he really doesn’t care and he rushes in, kneeling beside Bucky.

“Bucky, Buck, it’s me,” he says, shaking Bucky gently, then he hisses and pulls back when his hands come away drenched scarlet and sticky. Bucky’s eyes flutter open. It’s not Bucky, but there’s a hint of something, the barest recognition.

“You—" He grabs onto Steve’s shirt, digs his fingers into the cotton, holds on for dear life as he spits a mouthful of blood. “You said we know each other.”

“We do. You’re James Buchanan Barnes. I’m your best friend, Steve Rogers.”

The light is starting to fade from Bucky’s eyes and Steve searches in his pocket for his phone, frantically pulls it out. He can’t swipe it with all the blood, he has to scrub his fingers across his jeans so he can unlock it. He doesn’t know if he should call Fury or 911 but it’s a decision that’s made for him. He hears both sirens and screeching tires outside his Brooklyn apartment and he knows SHIELD has tracked Bucky down.

He wishes he could help Bucky on his own, but where things are—what with Bucky not really being Bucky these days—SHIELD being involved is probably necessary.

EMTs rush in and Bucky, or maybe the Winter Soldier, panics. His gaze goes hard, and he struggles in Steve’s grasp, attempts to sit up. He tries to reach for his boot, where, no doubt, there’s probably a knife, but Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s torso, sliding a hand up to cradle the back of his skull. The EMTs hesitate, waiting for Steve’s signal to approach. They know that Bucky himself is a weapon. Bucky stops reaching, goes limp in Steve’s arms, and for the first time since he watched his best friend fall off a train, Steve sees Bucky’s fear. He sees Bucky surrender.

He’s not Bucky; the Winter Soldier goes still. He’s still grasping at Steve’s shirt, and there’s blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

“Do you trust me?” Steve croaks.

Whoever is in Steve’s arms, he falters, his lips moving with no sound.

“I don’t know,” he says, and he’s afraid, he’s terrified.

Steve’s voice is gritty and broken. “Try.”

And then Bucky’s out cold. Only then does Steve notice that Fury’s standing in the room, watching the scene unfold with his hands clasped behind his back. Steve didn’t know Fury was even in the area—maybe they’ve been tracking Bucky for a while. The thought of it makes Steve’s stomach churn.

Fury nods to one of the EMTs, and Steve only has time to ask, “What are you doing?” before they stick a syringe in Bucky’s leg, and Bucky exhales, long and slow.

“What did you do?”

Fury approaches, stepping over pools of Bucky’s blood as he does. “It’s just a precaution. We want to make sure he doesn’t revive with super soldier strength on the way to Stark Towers.”

“Will he be safe? You cannot perform experiments on him, you hear me?”

“Stand down, Captain. SHIELD will be overseeing his recovery. Once he’s back to…” Fury waves his hand, “some semblance of functional, he can decide whether he wants to join our team.”

Steve helps load Bucky onto a stretcher, then he turns, stalks toward Fury. His voice is low, menacing, a threatening tone that Steve Rogers doesn’t use if he can help it but by God, he’ll use it for Bucky.

“You listen to me. If he wants to spend the rest of his life working retail, you cannot force his hand. You cannot coerce him, bribe him, or blackmail him into joining our team. If he wants nothing to do with this when all is said and done, you will not tell him that he owes you for rehabilitating him. You understand me?”

Fury doesn’t appear to be remotely fazed, but Steve sees something like understanding dawn in his eye.

Steve’s old-fashioned, so he persists, “Promise me, Nick.”

Fury sighs. “You have my word.”

“I mean it,” Steve threatens, low and all business.

Fury turns to leave, and calls over his shoulder, “I hear you, Captain. Loud and clear.”

 

xXxXx

 

Bucky is kept in a room that’s a lot like a hospital room, except it’s reinforced with steel and titanium. From the inside, though, the reinforcements aren’t visible. And thankfully, there’s a window. But it’s bulletproof, and the thickness of it makes Steve nauseous.

Steve packs a duffle bag and Fury drives them both to Stark Towers, following the ambulance.

It’s two months before Steve goes home again.

 

xXxXx

 

Bucky heals faster than a normal human would, but it still takes time. The surface wounds fade (much to Steve’s relief), but X-rays show that there’s still internal damage. Some of his organs took a beating.

The doctor, a woman named Doctor Patterson, explains, “The problem is that these sort of body reparations have typically been accompanied with a memory wipe. This could be a reset in every way.”

Steve rubs his forehead. “How long until he’s up?”

She flips through some charts. “A few days, maybe. And we don’t know what he’ll be.”

Steve levels a glare at her. “Bucky Barnes was not, is not, and will never be a ‘what.’”

The doctor swallows, but holds her own. “Understood.”

 

xXxXx

 

Bucky wakes up three days later.

On the surface, his body is almost as good as new, and a few puffy pink scars are the only indications that he was ever stabbed. By who, they still don’t know. They don’t even know if Bucky will remember. Below the surface, he’s still gaining his strength back.

Steve has a cot set up in Bucky’s room, so he’s there when Bucky begins to stir.

It’s clear Bucky doesn’t know a thing. He’s forgotten it all— he’s been wiped clean.

Bucky struggles, rips out the IVs and goes on a rampage. He chants about his mission over and over, and when Steve calls for him, he comes at Steve, teeth bared.

Steve’s moving toward Bucky all the same, but two guards rush him and drag him out, slam the door. With its reinforcements, it’s too strong for him to beat it down.

He stares through the window in horror as they stick a bigger syringe in Bucky’s thigh than last time and he crumples to the floor. Steve bangs on the window and screams, but they pay him no attention.

 

xXxXx

 

Fury tries to get Steve out. “At least don’t sleep in there, Cap. We don’t want anything happening to you.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Fury.”

Fury sighs, thoroughly put upon, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”

Steve huffs a laugh. “No. But it’s Bucky.”

 

xXxXx

 

Bucky wakes up two days after that, but it’s controlled—he’s been medicated, forced into a deep sleep, so they just slowly taper down the dose, not all the way but enough for him to regain consciousness. They’re hoping if he stays foggy, he won’t be a threat, he won’t go crazy and try to kill Steve.

They tell him down to the minute when Bucky will wake, so Steve makes sure to get his run in a few hours before. It’s the only time he leaves, to work out and to get food. He’s even begun to shower in the bathroom attached to Bucky’s room.

The run helps his nerves a little, but not as much as he’d hoped. He’s not scared of what Bucky will think, what he’ll see or remember. He’s nervous that this will be a cycle, that Bucky will wake up and go all Hulk on everyone, and then they’ll knock him out, and it will just repeat itself.

The doctor’s plan is to do this slowly, to bring Bucky out of sleep little by little; if all goes well the first few times, they’ll bring him out of it even more. Steve hates that they’re drugging Buck so much, but he knows there isn’t much of a choice. If he were alert, he’d probably run. And the last thing Steve ever wants to see again is Bucky lying in a pool of his own blood. Mostly, he doesn’t want Bucky to leave again. Captain America may be known for his selflessness, but when it comes to Steve Rogers’ best friend, it all flies out the window.

Steve’s by Bucky’s bedside as he slowly comes out of his sleep. Bucky’s breaths quicken, and he stirs. Steve wants to touch him, but he doesn’t want to frighten him.

“Hey,” he says, gentle and quiet. He’s aware of Doctor Patterson standing near the foot of Bucky’s bed, but they agreed that a familiar face could be Bucky’s best bet. There’s also a chance that it could backfire, but they all try not to acknowledge it. Steve reluctantly agreed that if Bucky went for his jugular vein again, he would not be present the next time they woke Bucky up.

Bucky’s eyes open slowly, like he’s forgotten how. He stares at the ceiling, then flexes his fingers on both hands. There’s a muffled whirring of gears as Bucky clenches and unclenches his fist, and then Steve hears furious scribbling as Doctor Patterson notes that Bucky’s arm is still functioning.

Good. It’s one less thing for SHIELD to tinker with.

Steve murmurs, “Hey,” again, and this time, Bucky hears him, turning his head slowly. It seems to take a minute for him to blink away the fogginess, and then, finally, he’s staring at Steve.

“Do I know you?” he asks, voice rough from sleeping for so long.

Steve swallows the lump at the back of his throat.

“Yeah. I’m Steve Rogers. We’ve been friends since we were children. We fought in World War II together.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “You’re… my mission. You’re my mission, you’re my—” He slips into Russian, but he isn’t getting frantic; it’s more like he’s fallen into a trance.

Steve sees the doctor moving for Bucky’s drip and he gets desperate. He tries to be gentle as he places his hand on Bucky’s thigh. Bucky’s words slowly fade, and he’s left panting from the exertion, from the struggle against the brainwashing he’s endured for so long.

Steve’s instinct is to squeeze Bucky’s thigh, but Bucky’s still not there, and he doesn’t want the Winter Soldier to spook.

Instead, he moves his hand up and down, more like a caress than anything else. Bucky fixes his gaze on Steve once more, and he’s concentrating hard.

“You… you have a shield. Where’s your shield?”

Steve smiles, and it _hurts_. “Don’t need it here, buddy.” It’s outside the room. He doesn’t have it to fend off Bucky; he has it in case anyone comes for Bucky. Still, he doesn’t want Bucky to see it and make the wrong assumptions.

“Steve Rogers,” Bucky says, like he’s trying the name out, and it sounds foreign. Even if it’s Bucky’s voice, it’s coming from the mouth of the Winter Soldier.

But Steve never thought he’d hear Bucky’s voice again, and he’ll take whatever he can get.

“Yeah. That’s me,” he says, and his voice cracks around the last syllable.

“How do I know? How do I know you’re not out to hurt me?”

Steve swallows and pulls a crinkled photo from his back pocket. It’s the two of them during the war. Someone had snapped a photo after that first rogue mission Steve led, the first and only time Steve was able to rescue Bucky from Zola’s table, when he could whisk him away from Hydra’s grasp. They look triumphant, riding the high of their victory. Steve remembers staring at Peggy during the chants, but at some point, he glanced back over at Bucky, who’d started the chant to begin with. That’s when the photo was taken, the two of them beaming at each other, Bucky squeezing Steve’s shoulder.

Steve remembers how disoriented Bucky had been when he took in the sight of Steve’s new body, tall and bulky and fierce. He was afraid Bucky would think he was a monster. And true, Buck did look at him differently for a while. But during the journey back, one of the times Steve caught him staring, Bucky said, “You finally look on the outside the way you’ve always been on the inside.” Something in Steve thawed out.

Bucky reaches for the photo, squinting. “Is that me?”

“Yeah. Both of us. 1942.”

Bucky’s hand begins to shake and he gives the photo back quickly, reaching to grip the sheets in an attempt to steady himself.

“Are you all right? I know it’s a lot to try to take in,” Steve says carefully. He’s beyond thankful Bucky hasn’t lunged for his throat yet.

“What happened to me?” Bucky asks, his eyes squeezed shut, and Steve understands that without Hydra to keep feeding Bucky information and lies, he’s really a clean slate now, left only with the remnants of his final mission: Steve Rogers.

Steve lets out a breath. “It’s a long story. I promise I’ll tell you, but do you think you can go back to sleep? You’ve been through a lot.”

Bucky looks frightened as the doctor takes her cue and slides in. He tenses and it looks like he’s a second away from thrashing, so Steve reaches again, this time for Bucky’s flesh arm.

“We’re not going to hurt you.” Steve’s quiet but he’s fierce and piercing, consumed by a burning need to make Bucky understand. Bucky looks at Steve and his eyelids begin to droop, but he keeps his gaze on Steve as his breathing begins to slow again. “You hear me, Bucky Barnes? I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Bucky’s lips part like he’s about to speak, but in the end, he manages a quick nod before he slips back into sleep. When it’s clear that he’s out Steve pulls back and scrubs a hand down his face.

The doctor says, “All things considered, that went well.”

Steve murmurs his agreement under his breath before he excuses himself and goes for another run, this time covering the entire route of the New York marathon. Twice.

 

xXxXx

 

After that, they begin to decrease the doses of the drugs that keep Bucky asleep, and they let off entirely when they wake Bucky once or twice a day.

Progress is slow. It’s two steps forward and one step back. Sometimes it’s two steps forward and three back.

Sometimes he sits up, and he listens as Steve tells him stories of growing up together, of fighting in the war. They all know that it may be dangerous when Bucky starts to remember, because there’s a chance he’ll remember everything that came after the war, too. And recalling seventy years of mental and physical torture probably isn’t healthy for anyone, especially if it comes all at once.

Steve shows Bucky the few pictures he has and tells stories of their childhood as vividly as he can; Bucky takes it all in, quiet and subdued. Sometimes he’ll trace a finger around his own face on the battered photo paper from so many lifetimes ago; sometimes his touch wanders over to Steve’s face too. It makes Steve’s chest ache, a vice squeezing his internal organs.

Once in a while, it seems like Bucky’s eyes light up with recognition. More often than Steve would like, Bucky’s just silent, like he’s trying to absorb all of his own story that he can’t remember. Steve sees the frustration, he can practically sense the steam coming out of Bucky’s ears as he digs through the recesses of his brain.

It’s probably once a week that Bucky lapses back into the Winter Soldier and he wakes rabid and frothing at the mouth. They don’t bother trying to drag Steve out of the room anymore, but it always hurts Steve to watch them drug Bucky to get his rage to subside, to watch him collapse in a heap on the floor. Some days, Steve thinks they’re no better than Hydra. He knows that’s not true, he knows SHIELD is out for the greater good, but there are moments when he thinks they’re too similar.

The worst is one day when Steve is sitting by Bucky’s bedside, sketching his sleeping friend’s face—he looks so peaceful. He looks like Bucky. The doctor thought Steve was weird the first couple times he did it, but Steve recounts to her how Bucky used to model for him all the time. He knows he probably comes across as a lovesick teenager with a crush, but it doesn’t bother him. The doctor stops giving him funny looks after a while.

Bucky wakes suddenly, and there aren’t any nurses nearby, the doctor’s out, it’s only the guard outside the door. He sees Steve’s sketchpad and he sits up, furious and cornered.

“Don’t let them sketch me, they can’t know my face, where’s my mask, _where’s my mask_ —”

Steve tries to get through to him. He drops the sketchpad and kicks it under the bed, holding his hands up. “See? I’m not here to report you to anyone, Bucky, I’m not—”

“Who the hell is Bucky?” he yells, the vein on his neck popping out. He starts to struggle, to try to break free, and a nurse finally rushes in. Bucky’s back arches off the bed as the drugs hit, as if he’s in pain.

Steve cries in the shower.

 

xXxXx

 

When running isn’t doing the trick anymore, Steve goes back to boxing, using Tony’s gym and destroying a dozen sandbags at a time.

One day, Natasha sneaks in, stealthy as always. Steve doesn’t notice her until she speaks—he’s too far in the zone.

“How’s he doing?”

Steve stops, winded, and turns to face her. He’s sure the pain’s written all over his face, and he generally tries to conceal his emotions better than this but today, he doesn’t have it in him.

“That bad, huh?”

“No, it’s just. We keep him asleep not because he’s sick, but because it feels like there’s no better option. If he’s awake, there’s a chance his mental state will be cloudy, and he’s not anywhere near stable enough.” He begins to unwrap the bandages on his fists. “I’m worried, though, that keeping him asleep is just wrecking havoc on his mind. I think he dreams. And sometimes it wipes his memory.”

Natasha is gentle, too gentle as she says, “That might not be the sleep. He’s bound to be hazy after seventy years of what he endured.” She touches Steve’s arm. “He’s held on longer than most people would.”

Steve’s throat is too tight. “Sometimes I think he remembers, just bits and pieces, but it gives me hope, you know? Some days it feels like maybe we’re making progress, but then he relapses.”

Natasha nods thoughtfully. “Have you been in touch with Fury? Have you told him any of this?”

“Not really. I know he gets periodic updates from the doctor. I think sometimes he watches us when Bucky’s awake. Call it a gut feeling.” Natasha gives him a sly smile—she knows all too well what Steve’s talking about.

“You should talk to him,” she suggests. “Tell him what you’re worried about. See if he has a bigger plan than what you’ve been informed of.”

Steve sighs. It’s annoying that Natasha’s always right.

 

xXxXx

 

That’s how he winds up sitting in Starbucks with Fury—Nick insisted it was unhealthy how much Steve’s cooped up, and he took it upon himself to drag Steve out into the world.

Steve’s still not really a fan of Starbucks, but he buys a cookie and takes a seat across from Fury. He’s wearing a hoodie and has grown a bit of scruff, so nobody recognizes him.

“What are you planning?” he asks point blank, and Fury raises his eyebrows.

“Not one to beat around the bush, Rogers, are you?”

Steve doesn’t answer, and Nick shakes his head. “Stubborn bastard.” He sits back, presses the tips of his fingers together. “Long term, you and I have the same goal. We want James Barnes back on his feet.” He hesitates. “Short term, we’re figuring out how to accomplish that as we go along. A lot of the problem is that while we have a vague idea of what he’s been through, we don’t know everything, so we don’t know how to tackle the healing process.” He studies Steve. “You know how painful it could be if he starts to remember everything.”

“So he’ll have therapy. And he’ll have the Avengers. He’ll love them. Well,” Steve chuckles, “uh, we’ll see about Tony. But I think he and Natasha will get along well, and he’ll definitely like Sam and Bruce.”

“That may be a long way off.”

Steve’s frustration mounts. He knows that. He’s got the most inside knowledge on how Bucky’s doing right now, and he makes sure Fury knows that Steve’s on top, here. “Right now, he’s starting to remember things from our childhood, and some things from the war. Sometimes, I think he has nightmares about the torture, but he won’t mention it during the daytime. I haven’t been able to decipher if it’s because he’s being stoic or because he doesn’t remember them. So as of now, it looks like he’ll end up recovering a lot of his memories. Slowly, but it’ll come.” Steve stares at the table, at the steaming coffee in front of Fury. He always takes the lid off, he says the plastic is bad in combination with the heat. Steve’s never questioned it.

He continues imploringly, “It will be painful for him to remember everything. But Bucky’s strong.” He’s insistent on that.

“Nobody’s disagreeing with you, Captain. We think once the memories really start to surface, they’ll come much faster than they have been in the beginning. The longer he goes without having his brain jump started, the more likely it is his mind will begin to repair itself.” Fury takes a sip of his coffee. “He may not ever remember everything.”

Steve doesn’t care. In fact, he hopes Bucky forgets some of the last seventy years. He has a plan, a proposal for Fury, and he decides to just launch into it.

“We should have him up and walking around soon. Just in Stark Tower. It may be good for him to move and get a change of four walls.” Fury eyes him suspiciously but he doesn’t say no right away, and that’s a good sign. “And then when it seems like he’s well enough, we should take him out. The city is incredibly stimulating, so maybe not Manhattan, but we could wander around Brooklyn. I could show him where we grew up. All the side streets where I was beaten up.” Steve laughs to himself. “He’s bound to remember some of that.”

Fury studies him wordlessly for a long time, but Steve returns his stare without flinching, without backing down. Finally, Fury sits back and shrugs. “I told you, we’re figuring this out as we go along as much as you are. If it seems like your plan of attack is working, we’ll support you. If he regresses too much, we have to go back to the drawing board.”

Steve barely contains his sigh of relief, but Nick knows anyway, and he presses his lips together, looking for all the world like a parents disciplining a child.

“Be careful, Steve.”

Steve rushes to reply, “I always am,” but Fury’s shaking his head before the sentence is complete.

“Not with the Winter Soldier, you’re not.”

Steve snatches up what’s left of his cookie and stands. He can’t stay in Starbucks any longer, not with the way his brain is buzzing.

“His name is Bucky,” he says, and he leaves. Fury doesn’t follow him.

 

xXxXx

 

Slowly, ever so slowly, Bucky starts to remember.

It’s little things at first, mostly stuff from their childhood. He asks if Coney Island still exists, and it makes Steve beam from ear to ear.

Bucky knows about Hydra. It’s one of the first things he remembers. He remembers being strapped down, over and over. He remembers pain. It isn’t anything focused, no memories of one instance in particular, but Steve dreads the day that those start to reemerge.

It makes sense, in a way, that Bucky remembers the oldest stuff first. That’s how it goes with folks who have Alzheimer’s, right? The memories that were there for the longest are usually the last that remain. Steve’s glad that Bucky has these memories, these wisps of when they had scraped knees and they got in fights over anything and everything, when they snuck through each other’s bedroom windows on hot summer nights and when they spent all day on the boardwalk until they were both fried to a crisp. Bucky remembers some of them, and then Steve tells him about the others, and Bucky’s face lights up.

For the first time, it feels like real progress.

 

xXxXx

 

It works out well, actually, because four days later, Bucky asks, “By the way, where am I?” He now remembers that he tracked Steve down and broke into his Brooklyn apartment. He remembers the fight that had him so badly wounded in the first place: after he rescued Steve, he didn’t return to Hydra. He wandered around, trying to figure out who the hell he was. Hydra came for him, and when he resisted being taken back, they attacked him. But he remembers the scene in Steve’s apartment, so he adds, “Am I still in New York?”

“Yes, you are,” Steve answers. “You’re in Stark Towers.”

Bucky makes a face that might be the distant relative of a smile. “Doesn’t sound like a hospital to me.”

Steve grins back—he can’t help it. “You’re right, it isn’t. But I promise the staff are real. We brought them in from outside. It’s mostly because security is better in here.” That wipes the smile right off Bucky’s face, and Steve realizes his mistake. “Not to keep you in! It’s to keep other people out.”

Bucky scoffs, “Hydra’s that desperate to get me back, huh?”

It’s a rhetorical question and he moves on before Steve can try to strategize on how to reply. Bucky continues, “Am I allowed to walk around? See the place? Or is this some sort of top-secret headquarters, and I’m trapped in this room for the rest of eternity?”

Steve laughs. “You’re not stuck here. We can walk around.” He excuses himself to go talk to the guard, who radios through the tower and gets everyone to clear out, especially Natasha and Sam. They’re still worried about what memories are going to be triggered and when. Steve has a feeling he and Bucky will be watched very closely as they move about, but it’ll be by security cameras rather than people. He makes it abundantly clear that he doesn’t want to be followed, and that he’s positive Bucky isn’t waiting to get him alone so he can kill him. The Winter Soldier is undoubtedly still there, but it’s been two weeks straight now that he’s known Steve, it’s been two weeks since he’s tried to escape or attack anyone. They try to talk Steve into having at least one guard trail behind them, but Steve refuses. He recalls the fight he and Bucky had, before Bucky dragged him out of the water—when Bucky had the upper hand and Steve told him to do it, to finish it. He’s fairly certain that if Bucky attacked him now, he’d be able to defend himself, but not at the expense of doing any serious harm to Bucky. If that situation were to happen again, Steve would do the same thing he did last time. He knows that. He’s pretty sure Fury knows that, too.

Bucky is a little shaky on his feet at first after so many weeks of bed rest, so he moves slowly. Steve knows Bucky’s analyzing everything, looking for threats around every corner. It probably isn’t conscious anymore, it’s just deeply ingrained in him. Steve doesn’t blame him.

When Jarvis addresses them by name in the elevator, it makes Bucky jump. “How does it know me?”

“This is Jarvis. He’s artificial intelligence. He’s Tony Stark’s golden boy. He knows everyone in the building.”

“So it’s not because I’m a most-wanted figure? It’s just because I’m in here?”

Jarvis chimes in as the elevator hurtles up. “Correct. You are James Barnes. You are a war hero.”

Steve wants to kiss Tony right now for whatever he told Jarvis.

It makes Bucky’s face crumble, though. “I’m not a hero, Jarvis,” he mutters, and the doors open for them to get off. Steve’s taking Bucky to the pool and the gym—he figured they could start small.

Steve can’t bear to look at Bucky’s expression, and he’s enormously relieved when Jarvis reiterates, “You are a war hero, Bucky Barnes.”

They get off and the doors close behind them. Bucky’s voice gritty and pained, Bucky says, “How many strings did you have to pull in order for a robot to tell me I’m a hero?”

Steve holds his hands out defensively. “None, Bucky, honest. Jarvis is smart, but he’s still got a personality; he has access to a lot of the SHIELD files as well as a wealth of historical information.” Bucky still looks suspicious. “I didn’t tell him anything. I had nothing to do with that.”

Bucky spits on his flesh palm and holds his hand out to shake, and Steve gapes at him. It’s something they did when they were little and they were making promises to each other. They never broke their word if they spat and shook on it.

Bucky looks shocked, too, and moves to withdraw, to wipe his hand across his sweatpants and probably pretend the whole thing never happened but Steve immediately spits on his own hand and reaches out. Bucky’s fingers are trembling minutely as they grip each other’s hands, but that’s okay. Steve’s hands aren’t steady, either.

 

xXxXx

 

Bucky likes the gym and he really likes the pool. Steve promises they’ll go whenever Bucky wants.

“Will you tell the guards to stand down?” Bucky asks, and Steve nearly cringes. Bucky chuckles darkly. “Did you think I didn’t know? My room is titanium reinforced. I have someone outside my room at all times. Trust me, I’ve known since the first day.”

Steve is quiet as Jarvis brings them back down to the floor Bucky currently lives on. He doesn’t want to lie. Eventually, he settles on, “I’ll talk to Fury.”

“He the one with the eye patch?”

That catches Steve off guard. “Yes. Do you remember?”

“He’s watching us all the time.” Bucky licks his lips, isn’t ready to back down just yet. “What will you tell him?”

That one’s easy. “I’ll tell him you’re not a threat. I’ll tell him you don’t need to be guarded anymore, that you should be able to go to places like the gym and the pool.”

Bucky looks up at Steve, and there’s something in his eyes that makes Steve’s gut twist. “You don’t think I’m a threat?”

The elevator doors open and they begin walking back towards Bucky’s room—towards _their_ room. “No. I don’t.”

Bucky swallows. “I could kill you. Do you know how many opportunities I’ve had? It would be so quick none of them would have time to even figure out what happened.”

Steve gazes back evenly, replies quietly, “I know.”

Bucky stops. He steps closer and closer into Steve’s personal space, and Steve finds himself with his back to the wall. He’s not afraid, though. The desperation in Bucky’s eyes isn’t bloodlust. It’s self-loathing. If anything, Steve would prefer bloodlust.

His voice is low and broken. “Why do you stay with me? Why do you sleep in my room? You know what I am, Steve.” He clenches his flesh hand in Steve’s shirt and Steve has flashbacks to when he found Bucky on his apartment floor. He has to suppress a shudder at the memory.

Bucky carries on. “You know I’m a monster. How many times have I forgotten you?”

“Since you woke up? Six.” Steve hesitates, but ends up sliding his hand over Bucky’s, pressing Bucky’s hand against his chest. It makes Bucky deflate a little, and he drops the act of being menacing. 

“Doesn’t matter, Buck. I don’t care.”

“You shouldn’t trust me.”

“I’ve done a lot of things I probably shouldn’t have done. Shouldn’t have let you force me to ride the Cyclone until I was sick, either.”

Bucky makes a pained sound in his throat, and he lowers his eyes, leans forward until his forehead is pressed to Steve’s chest.

“You’re the dumbest person I know,” he mumbles, and Steve only narrowly resists the urge to smooth his hand along Bucky’s spine.

“You’ve told me that before.”

They stay there for a few minutes. Steve’s only concern is that whoever is watching them will think that Bucky’s threatening or hurting Steve in some way but thankfully, nobody comes charging in with blazing guns. Eventually, Bucky takes a deep breath, and another, and he lowers his hand from Steve’s chest and pulls away.

They both turn and begin to walk again, and the guard opens the door when they approach. Bucky hesitates, and Steve turns to him, steps in so he can speak in a low voice. “I’ll talk to Fury in the morning about easing up and about letting you walk around. Although, I don’t know if I want all of the guards gone completely.” Bucky wrinkles his brow, and Steve explains, “I don’t want anything happening to you, Bucky. Tony’s got this place all wired up, backup generators and cameras and everything, but all it would take is someone sneaking in. It wouldn’t be the first time someone from Hydra pretended to be on our side.” Bucky’s eyes go soft as Steve’s voice turns to a plea. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Pretty sure a single guard wouldn’t be able to stop Hydra assassins,” Bucky says, but he concedes, and Steve breathes a sigh of relief as they both walk through the door.

Soon after, the nurse comes in to serve them dinner, and Steve makes up his mind to talk to Fury about Bucky’s meals too. They feed him adequately, and Bucky hasn’t complained, but if he’s been injected with anything like what Steve got, his metabolism is ten times more rigorous than a normal person’s. He needs more food than what they’re giving him.

They fall asleep that night facing one another, Steve having pulled his cot up closer to Bucky’s bed. They talk until their eyelids begin to droop, and Steve hears Bucky whisper in the dark, “Goodnight, Steve.”

It’s barely audible; Steve doesn’t know if he was meant to hear it. Bucky probably thinks he’s asleep. But Steve’s overjoyed as he drifts off, more victorious than he’s felt in a long time.

 

xXxXx

 

Steve does call Fury the next day, who seems willing to cooperate with Steve’s requests. Steve still gets the feeling that Bucky will be monitored carefully from afar, and Bucky will know, but it’s better than having guards and nurses posted outside their door 24/7.

It’s the following night that Steve dreams of ice, of Bucky’s hand slipping out of reach, his face contorted in terror as he plummets. It’s vivid—Steve can feel the bite of the snow, the wind whipping past as the train hurdles along, and he wakes shivering, a cold sweat broken out across his chest and forehead.

He wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d shouted or even whimpered in his sleep, but Bucky hasn’t stirred, which makes Steve think he didn’t. Now that there aren’t drugs in his system, he wakes at the drop of a pin.

Steve swings his legs over the side of the cot and pauses. Then he thinks _screw it_ and he slides into bed with Bucky. It’s a risk, he knows that, but he’s got faith that it’ll be okay. They used to curl up like this all the time—when Steve was a sickly kid with fevers, when he had bad asthma attacks, when the freezing cold felt like a boot pressed against his slender chest. And when Steve had been injected, when he grew and he was no longer frail, he and Bucky still huddled together in the trenches when they were camping out. One or two of the soldiers gave them the side-eye, but they weren’t the only ones seeking the heat of another body, they weren’t the only ones who slept spooned together. Steve went from being the little spoon in his childhood, to being the one behind Bucky, his breath puffing against the back of Bucky’s neck.

Now, Bucky’s on his back, and when Steve climbs in, he wakes. “Steve?” he says, voice thick with sleep. “What’s wrong?”

Steve considers lying, but here in the dark, with Manhattan light streaming in through the slats of the blinds, it’s a different atmosphere.

“Nightmares,” he says, and Bucky just nods. He turns so that his back is facing Steve’s front and shifts until their bodies are pressed together. Steve pauses for a moment, unsure what’s acceptable, and Bucky seems to take a second, too. Then he reaches back, grabs Steve’s arm and pulls it around his chest. Steve’s heart lurches into his throat, but Bucky, this man who’s worked as an assassin for the last seventy years of his life, goes lax in Steve’s grasp, and soon his breathing is even again.

Once he’s sure Bucky’s asleep again, he buries his nose in Bucky’s hair and inhales deeply. There’s the scent of the shampoo Steve brought from his apartment (which in and of itself is enough to make Steve’s head spin), but underneath, he still smells like Bucky.

Steve hasn’t been physically this close to Bucky in so long, far too long, and the comfort of it erases all his images of Bucky plummeting down into the river.

He sleeps without dreaming.

When Steve wakes in the morning, it’s before the nurse has come in (at least, Steve’s fairly certain. She doesn’t typically come in until around ten). Steve’s used to doing his morning run at seven, but he doesn’t want to go; he doesn’t want to just disappear and leave Bucky to think that he hallucinated Steve slipping into bed with him.

So Steve dozes off until he feels Bucky shift in his arms, waking slowly. He seems puzzled to be sharing the heat of another body, but the confusion in his eyes clears when he sees that it’s Steve. Steve removes his arm from Bucky’s waist, his head pillowed on his arm as Bucky turns to face him.

“Good morning,” Bucky slurs, stretching against him, and Steve’s seen him like this a thousand times but not recently, not since they found each other again; the fondness thrumming through him like a current is probably disproportional, but then again, that’s always how things have been with Bucky.

Bucky frowns. “Why didn’t you go for your run?”

Steve lifts his shoulder in a half shrug. “Thought maybe you’d want to try out the gym with me.”

A lazy smile spreads across Bucky’s face. “You trying to test out my super soldier strength? See if I can finally kick your ass again?”

Steve smirks. “Doubt it.”

It turns out that they’re evenly matched now. It’s kind of nice, even knowing why Bucky’s gotten this strong in the first place. When they were kids, Steve always yearned to be as strong as his best friend; after he was injected with the serum, it was really jarring being able to outrun Bucky, being able to overpower him. Now they fight until they have to call it a draw—both of them doubled over, catching their breath, sweating bullets and grinning at each other.

 

xXxXx

 

A few days later, they start taking trips out of Stark Tower and into the city. Bucky’s the one who begs Steve to bring a syringe to sedate him if it becomes necessary. Steve protests a little at first but is grudgingly willing, thinking it’s because Bucky is worried it’ll all be too much. When Bucky lets slip that it’s because he’s worried a memory will trigger him and cause him to try to kill Steve, Steve nearly refuses. But Bucky puts his foot down about it, saying he’ll sneak out without Steve if he doesn’t agree to it. He looks resolutely into Steve’s eyes and says, “I can’t live with the idea that I might slip up and hurt you.” Steve doesn’t want to think about Bucky venturing out on his own, so he finally caves. It burns a hole in his back pocket with every step.

Like Steve told Fury, they start in Brooklyn. Cabs magically appear at the door to pick them up and drive them out, for which Steve is thankful. He doesn’t know how Bucky would do on the subway.

Bucky does stare out the window as they drive through Manhattan and into Brooklyn. Those first few times out, Steve sees Bucky go rigid, the line of his shoulders tense, and he begins to mutter to himself. _He’s remembering_ , Steve realizes, and dread washes over him.

The first time, he calls softly, “Buck?”

It takes a few seconds before Bucky turns to look at Steve, his face drained of color, eyes wide and haunted, looking for all the world like he just saw a ghost.

“You okay, pal?” Steve asks, and when Bucky doesn’t morph into the Winter Soldier, Steve inches forward, allows Bucky to see his intention before he puts his hand on Bucky’s knee.

Bucky closes his eyes and then, to Steve’s surprise, he laces his fingers through Steve’s, his palm pressed to the top of Steve’s hand. “I’m good. I’m okay,” he says, barely loud enough for Steve to hear. Steve sits back again, the tension in his own muscles dissipating into the leather seat. Bucky doesn’t let go of his hand.

The next time they’re out, Steve sits in the middle and Bucky still looks out the window (because Steve knows he can’t stop him, he’ll have to see Manhattan at some point) and whenever Bucky’s knuckles turn white where he’s holding the handle on the door—whenever Bucky starts speaking under his breath in Russian—Steve grabs Bucky’s hand, the sides of their bodies pressed together, and slowly, Bucky comes back. He always squeezes Steve’s hand in gratitude before they let go and clamber out of the cab.

Steve takes Bucky to the street where they grew up. It looks different now, it’s nearly a different world, but Steve sees hints of recognition flicker across Bucky’s face.

They walk around for a few hours, stopping to get a soft pretzel (even though they’re always stale, Steve loves them anyway. As it turns out, so does Bucky). When they’re ready to go, they find the cab parked right where they’d been dropped. Steve owes Tony for this. Or maybe it’s Fury. Whoever. He tips the cab driver $75, and the driver stammers, “Sir, it’s not necessary, I was paid well for this—”

But Steve shoves the crumpled bills in his hand and gets out before he can protest.

 

xXxXx

 

With Bucky out and around more, progress speeds up, his physical strength returning as he regains lost memories. Not that there aren’t setbacks. There have been a few times where Bucky’s forgotten, but he comes back to himself much faster now.

The nightmares and panic attacks have set in, though.

It’s a little over a month after Bucky showed up at Steve’s apartment that they move him out of the makeshift infirmary and into a real bedroom in Stark Tower. There’s still surveillance, and Bucky knows that, but they leave his bedroom untouched. Steve notices Bucky relaxes when he walks into his room, and he feels guilty that they’ve kept such a close eye on him for so long. He feels guilty about a lot of things. Most days he just stuffs it down, way down.

Originally, the arrangement is that Steve and Bucky get adjoining bedrooms with a door separating them. The first night, Steve tries to give Bucky his privacy and closes the door. But then he hears Bucky yelling in his sleep, bursts through the door to find Bucky squirming under the covers, grimacing and clenching his hands into fists. When Steve touches him to try to wake him, he gets socked in the jaw for his trouble, and it’s Bucky’s metal arm, so he packs a punch. But Steve’s back in a second later, calling, “Bucky!” over and over until Bucky wakes with a start. He sits up, panting, eyes glazed over. When he finally glances up at Steve, he sees the red finger marks blossoming on Steve’s jaw and he looks down at his metal arm in horror.

“Stop it.” Steve grabs Bucky’s shoulders and squeezes, “Stop it, Buck.”

With his right hand, Bucky reaches up, brushes his fingers across Steve’s jaw, a whisper-light touch, achingly gentle, and Steve gets goose bumps.

“Are you all right?” Bucky whispers, and Steve can tell he’s still beating himself up, but Steve waits until Bucky looks him in the eyes again and replies, “Yes. I’m okay. It’s okay.”

Bucky slowly slides down the headboard, but there’s fear flashing behind his eyes—he looks hollowed out, and Steve would give anything to wipe that look from his face.

“Move over,” he commands before he can overthink, and Bucky does it without hesitation. Steve slides into bed with him but Bucky stares at him, makes no move to spoon up to Steve like they’ve done a few times in the past two weeks.

“I don’t want to hurt you again,” he mutters, and God, he looks beyond remorseful; Steve can tell Bucky’s furious with himself, afraid of what he’s capable of.

Steve reaches for Bucky in the dark, hoping touch will work to soothe Bucky’s conscience. “Give me some credit. I’m not fragile now. You can’t break me.”

Bucky makes a sound that’s a hybrid of a laugh and a sob, and Steve has a feeling that when Bucky rolls over so his back is facing Steve, it’s mostly a strategic move to hide his face. But he allows Steve to slide in close behind him, lining them up head to toe, and Steve holds Bucky while the tremors subside.

“Not gonna let anything happen to you,” Steve mumbles when he thinks Bucky is asleep.

Bucky surprises him, turns his head so Steve can hear him when he responds, “That’s the opposite of what my nightmares are about.”

Steve falls asleep with a heart of lead, so heavy, so dull in his chest.

 

xXxXx

 

A week later, Steve goes to SHIELD's headquarters and corners Fury.

Fury takes one look at Steve and sighs. “What is it?”

“Can we release Bucky into my care now?”

Fury narrows his eye. “Why? Doesn’t he like Stark Tower?”

Steve steps in, but it’s not an intimidation tactic; he’s entreating Fury as someone he’s maybe almost friends with. Never completely, and Steve still has some trust issues after Fury faked his death, but he’s hoping Fury can maybe understand where he’s coming from.

“He’ll do better with me. I have an extra room in my apartment. Even if he’s not in a locked and armed room anymore, he still feels trapped at Stark Towers.” Fury doesn’t respond, and Steve says, “C’mon. You know what I mean. Put yourself in his position.”

“Can’t,” Fury replies immediately, and it makes the hairs on the back of Steve’s neck stand up. The corner of Fury’s mouth quirks up in a wry half-smile. “Down, Captain. I’m saying I can’t because I don’t want to pretend to understand what he’s been through, what _both_ of you have been through. It would be cheap and unfair.”

“Him more than me,” Steve mutters, and then says, “Okay, then try to imagine. And imagine being cooped up in the same place where you were rehabilitated, when you were monitored 24/7.”

Fury doesn’t speak for a long time, and Steve waits him out. He’s used to Fury like this.

“There will be stipulations to his release,” Fury says finally, and Steve wants to cheer but he holds it in, knowing the battle isn’t over.

“He has to attend therapy. If it’s someone outside of SHIELD, they still need to be in touch with one of our agents. If he continues to do well, we can cut that off. And you, Cap,” he says, leveling Steve with a resolute stare, “You have to be in touch at least every week. If something happens—if he forgets or becomes violent or there are any incidents with Hydra coming for him, you will be in touch sooner. Is that understood?”

Steve nods. “Yes, sir.”

He still doesn’t like how tightly SHIELD is holding onto Bucky, but he knows if he were in Fury’s position, he’d probably do the same thing. After all, they don’t know Bucky Barnes; they only knew the Winter Soldier. Everyone seems to trust Steve—everyone seems to trust that if this man has Steve Rogers’ unwavering support, he must be a good man—but Steve understands why there’s still hesitation, why everyone is still wary. He knows it’s something that only time can fix, and that’s fine.

He’s willing to wait however long it takes.

 

xXxXx

 

When he delivers the news, Bucky’s shoulders slump in relief.

“Thank God,” he says under his breath, and Steve had a feeling Bucky was anxious to get out but he didn’t know it was this bad.

He pulls Bucky into a hug, and Bucky freezes for a moment before he returns the embrace, arms circling Steve’s waist.

“I’m warning you, though,” Steve murmurs into Bucky’s ear, “My place isn’t as nice as Stark’s. I live in a walkup in Brooklyn. I don’t have a gym like his. I’m pretty sure I don’t have cockroaches, but—”

“I don’t care,” Bucky rasps, words muffled against Steve’s shoulder. “Do you have the space? Once I get a job, I can move out and get my own place.”

Steve pulls back with his hands on Bucky’s shoulders, making sure Bucky meets his eyes. “I want you with me, Bucky," and then he realizes that probably sounds too possessive, so he attempts to add humor. “I mean, if you want your own place so that you can bring women home without me to judge you, I’ll understand that.” His attempt at sarcasm works at least a little, because Bucky huffs, his gaze falling to the floor. Steve squeezes his shoulder, whispers, “Hey,” and waits for Bucky to look up again.

“Seriously. I’ve got the space. It’s not roomy, but it’s yours for however long you want it.”

Bucky says, “All right.” Then, quieter, “It’ll be just like old times.”

Steve’s pretty sure his heart’s going to burst through his ribcage, so he just pulls Bucky in again, holding him close. Bucky clings onto him just as tightly.

 

xXxXx

 

Bucky has no possessions aside from the weapons that were on his person the night he showed up in Steve’s apartment. His clothes from that night were pretty much destroyed with all the blood. He’s got a few outfits that Bruce donated even though they’ve only met in passing once or twice, mostly just sweatpants and cotton tee shirts. Fury tries to give Steve money to take Bucky shopping, and Steve refuses.

“SHIELD has done more than enough for him,” he says. “I can take him shopping. I can at least afford that.”

Fury shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

They stop downtown on their way to Brooklyn, go into a few clothing stores. Bucky seems a bit lost, and he explains to Steve, “I don’t know what clothes I like.” It hadn’t even occurred to Steve that Bucky wouldn’t have a taste in clothes, but it makes perfect sense. He’s just been wearing whatever military clothing Hydra has been giving him for the past seven decades.

“Sometimes I wore civilian clothes if I was undercover,” Bucky says, pinching some denim between his fingers to test the material.

Bucky ends up with some plain shirts and a few pairs of jeans, a few baseball caps, and obviously new underwear. “I’m assuming yours are off limits,” Bucky says as he holds the pack of briefs in his hands, and Steve laughs—he has to turn away to hide the way his cheeks flush.

 

xXxXx

 

When they get to Steve’s apartment, Bucky drops the shopping bags in the kitchen without a word and scopes the place out.

Steve gives him a minute, and when he sees Bucky wander into the guest room, he follows him in. “This one’s yours,” he says, watching as Bucky walks around, running his fingers over the wooden nightstand, the lampshade, drawing the blinds and then opening them again. His face is expressionless, and Steve worries Bucky doesn’t like it.

“We can decorate, if you want,” he offers. “Get a chair in the corner, repaint the walls. It’s up to you, it’s whatever you want.”

Bucky is across the room in two strides, stepping close to Steve, and his eyes are intense. “It’s perfect.” He swallows. “Are you sure about this?”

“Of course I am. Of course.” Steve squeezes Bucky’s arm, and the moment is too dense, so Steve says “Come on. Let’s get your clothes in these drawers.” The heaviness clears. They put on a shitty movie and the rest of the afternoon passes quickly, the two of them working to make Bucky at home. When Bucky stands up at the end of it and surveys his room, looking so humbled to have a space that’s his, Steve knows every moment leading up to this was worth it.

 

xXxXx

 

As the weeks pass, Bucky settles in. He starts seeing a therapist in Manhattan, someone he found on his own. Obviously, it wasn’t easy finding someone who’d buy into Bucky’s story. He went to at least a dozen preliminary appointments, testing the waters with people. He always came home emotionally burnt out, like he’d fought a battle. Steve knows the questions go through in those appointments: they leave no stone unturned, no vacant area of your mind untouched, and for someone like Bucky who’s got a lot going on, it’s draining to have to go through it time and time again. Even if you have your story scripted and memorized, even if you can detach yourself from it, it still takes a toll on you. Steve asks Bucky if he wants Fury to at least compile a list of SHIELD-approved therapists, but Bucky’s persistent. He wants to do it on his own.

He finally comes home one day looking worn down but triumphant, in a cautious sort of way. Steve’s been trying not to pry—the last thing Bucky wants, he’d imagine, is to talk about the grueling and unsuccessful intake appointments that he wades through. But this time, he approaches Bucky, meets his eyes, asks quietly, “Was it a success?”

Bucky lets out a breath. “Yeah. I think so.”

So he goes back for his next appointment, and the next after that. He says he likes her and that he’s trying to learn to trust her but he thinks it’ll come in time, and that’s more than enough. She’s happy to cooperate with SHIELD, which means Fury’s happy, too.

Bucky starts finding places he likes, places he goes when he’d otherwise be wearing a hole in the floor of their apartment. He goes back to Coney Island quite a bit. One day, he brings Steve along with him.

“In our day, this was the pinnacle of greatness,” Bucky says as they stroll along the boardwalk slurping at ice cream cones.

“Are you implying that it isn’t anymore?” Steve asks, challenging.

Bucky pulls his baseball cap down, his tongue flickering out to catch a drop of vanilla that rolled down his knuckles. “Uh, it’s a little bit dilapidated.”

Steve snorts. “That’s a big word for you.”

“Oh, fuck off, Rogers,” Bucky says, and it’s an echo of something dragged in from seventy years gone.

When Steve glances over, Bucky’s grinning, too.

“The Avengers do a trip every year to Six Flags, or sometimes to Canobie Lake Park. Either of those might impress you more.”

“I’m not an Avenger,” Bucky replies breezily.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re my plus one.”

Bucky crunches on his cone, thoughtful. “They’d let me come along?”

“Yeah, sure they would. As long as you don’t puncture a hole in any of the rides you think are too scary.”

Bucky snorts. “I think you’re confusing me with you.”

“The first time you rode the Cyclone, I know you got sick,” Steve insists. “I was there.”

“Your word against mine. All I have to do is point out that you’re nearly a hundred years old and that your memory’s starting to go, and no one will believe you.”

“That is not true,” Steve objects, and he’s lit up inside. There’s finally someone else here who was an eyewitness to Steve’s childhood, who can attest to what New York was like in the twenties and thirties and forties. Bucky’s posture is relaxed, not that of a soldier but that of a man who’s out on the boardwalk, eating frozen yogurt. There’s a gentle breeze, and there’s sunlight warming their faces, Steve’s got ice cream smeared on his chin. He doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

 

xXxXx

 

Steve knows Bucky still feels guilt like the weight of the world. He’s probably still trying to tally up how many lives he took, how many people he hurt. It’s the sort of thing Bucky would do. One night Bucky wakes up and runs for the toilet, violently spilling the contents of his stomach. Steve dotes on him like a mother hen, which only feels fair considering how many times Bucky had tended to him when he was a sickly kid.

Bucky shakes, even his metal hand, and Steve brushes the sweaty tendrils of hair from his forehead, asking over and over, “What is it?” There are times when Bucky doesn’t want to talk about it—when he can’t talk about it—but Steve knows whatever this is, it’ll eat away at Bucky. He needs to share the burden, even if it’s just a few words.

Bucky can’t look at Steve. “They were twins. They were _three_ ,” he whispers, hoarse and broken, his eyes squeezed shut. Bucky takes some of the sleeping pills he’s been prescribed for nights like these. He never resorts to them, he sees it as a weakness, but Steve watches as he slips two of them under his tongue to get them into his bloodstream as fast as possible.

 

xXxXx

 

A few weeks after Bucky moves in, they’re lounging around after a long day. The sun sank below the horizon half an hour ago, and the stars emerge slowly.

Steve gets an idea. “Do you remember when we used to climb up to the roof and look at the stars?”

Bucky gives this beautiful small smile, one Steve can see in the pale glow of the TV.

“Yeah, I do,” he says, and Steve knows he’s telling the truth.

“Let’s do it. For old time’s sake.”

When they get up to the roof, Bucky wanders over to the half wall around the outside edge of the building, braces his weight on it and looks up and out. It’s a beautiful night, still humid but cooler now. Steve joins him and mirrors his pose. They’re enveloped in a comfortable silence as they take in the sight of their city, their home. They can’t see as many stars now as they could when they were kids, not with all the artificial light, but there’s less of it out in Brooklyn than there would be from Stark Tower, and they can still see a few stars glisten, maybe even some constellations if they looked hard enough.

Bucky speaks first. “Don’t know if I ever looked at the stars when I worked for Hydra.” He pauses, amends, “Except a few times to figure out which way was north.” He chews on his lip and turns to face Steve. “Actually, one time I did, and it made me remember you.”

Steve cocks his head. This isn’t a story he’s heard.

“It was early on in the brainwashing, so sometimes, some of the old memories got through. And I remembered how you and me would lay on our backs and try to make shapes out of the stars the same way people try to find funny pictures in the clouds.” Bucky traces a metal finger along the mortar between the bricks, a bitter smile on his face. “I remembered. And Hydra cranked up the intensity of my memory wipes after that, because I came running back to them after that mission asking where was Captain America, where had Steve Rogers gone.”

Steve swallows. “I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t remember until now,” Bucky says with a shrug. He watches the sky and Steve watches Bucky. They have a long way to go, he knows that. But this, this right here, this is more than he’d ever allowed himself to even dream about. Steve is more grateful than he ever knew was possible.

Bucky pulls him from his thoughts, keeping his eyes up as he murmurs, “Can I ask you something?”

Steve looks down at his hands, the glint of Bucky’s metal one, the contrast of their pinkie fingers that are nearly brushing. “Anything.”

Bucky’s voice is steady as he asks, “Did we kiss?”

And that grinds everything in Steve Rogers’ brain to a spluttering halt.

Of course, now is when Bucky decides to finally look at Steve again, and Steve is shit at pretending when it comes to this, especially when he’s trying to figure out what the right answer is and his best friend is looking at him expectantly. He’s a little relieved to find there’s no trace of malice on Bucky’s face.

Steve focuses intently on the feeling of the brick beneath the pads of his fingers and wills his vocal cords to function. “Yeah. A long time ago.” He shakes his head with a disbelieving laugh. “I’d forgotten.”

Bucky gives a small nod, staring at his hands while Steve just gapes at him.

“I remembered it the first time you took me around Brooklyn.”

Steve exhales, shaky. “Buck, that was two months ago.” Bucky just tilts his head, doesn’t reply, and Steve mutters a curse under his breath. “Why didn’t you say something?”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth curls up, barely noticeable if not for the fact that Steve’s eyes are fixed on Bucky’s face. “I thought I imagined it,” he says, his voice nearly drowned out by a siren that goes by, the red and blue lights casting eerie shadows on Bucky’s face as some of his hair falls forward. Steve wants badly to reach out and tuck it behind Bucky’s ear, but he holds himself still.

“I had a few visions like that, things that were just dreams, illusions. They didn’t mean anything, though. And that memory meant something.”

Steve wasn’t lying when he said he hadn’t thought about it; it felt like it was lifetimes ago. In a way, it was.

They were young, maybe fifteen years old. They were sitting on the couch, drinking soda on a summer day that was too stiflingly hot to do anything. Bucky had already been on the dating scene—he’d started taking girls out for ice cream when he was thirteen, so kissing was old news to him by then. He’d even recounted to Steve the couple of times when girls let him slide his hands up their skirts.

Steve always crinkled his nose and acted disgusted. One day, though, he’d zoned out when Bucky was animatedly recounting the story of the first time a girl sucked him off. Steve touched his fingers to his own lips, imagining what it would feel like to have someone’s mouth pressed against his.

Bucky had stopped midsentence, smirked at Steve knowingly, watching the pads of his fingers trace the bow of his upper lip. “You want your mouth on some other man’s cock, Steve?”

“What? No!” Steve spluttered, even as he felt his cheeks burning.  

“Out with it, then,” Bucky said, knocking his foot against Steve’s knee from where they were folded up on opposite ends of the sofa.

Steve wanted to say no, wanted to tell Bucky that he could stick it where the sun didn’t shine, but instead, he replied under his breath, “I was wondering how it feels.” When Bucky snickered, he hastened to clarify, “ _Kissing_ , I mean. I haven’t ever, uh. Done it.”

Bucky’s smile shifted, turned into one that was gentle, almost coddling, and Steve didn’t want to be coddled. “I know you think I’m a prude,” he huffed, but Bucky put his bottle down and, to Steve’s surprise, reached for him, got a hand on Steve’s knee before he could flee to the kitchen in favor of sticking his head in the refrigerator while claiming he was grabbing another soda.

Bucky studied Steve’s face for a minute, and Steve knew that look— it never led to anything good.

“Do you want to?” Bucky asked finally, and Steve just stared.

“In general? Or with you?”

Steve’s discomfort made Bucky laugh, and the lilt of it was like a balm for Steve’s humiliation and flayed nerves.

“With me, you idiot,” he said, cuffing Steve behind his ear.

Steve rubbed the area like it smarted and scoffed, “Is that how you treat the dames you take on dates? ‘Cause I’m surprised you get anywhere at all.”

Bucky’s eyes went wide and he pulled Steve into a headlock, digging his knuckles into the crown of Steve’s head. Steve struggled, but it was futile. When Bucky relented and helped pull Steve upright again, they ended up close together, Steve half pulled into Bucky’s lap.

“No harm, no foul,” Bucky had said when Steve’s gaze darted down to his best friend’s mouth and then back up. “Won’t tell no one, I promise.”

Steve spat on his palm, Bucky did the same and they shook on it, Steve’s eyes flickering back and forth between Bucky’s. Bucky unceremoniously wiped his saliva-covered hand on Steve’s shirt and Steve probably would’ve protested if not for Bucky cupping his cheek and bringing their mouths together.  

At first, it was tentative, and Steve thought that maybe, the whole thing was actually fairly straightforward; he didn’t know what all the fuss was about.

But then Bucky licked across Steve’s bottom lip, slid his hand to the small of Steve’s back and pulled until Steve was straddling him, and oh. Okay. _Now_ Steve understood the hype.

There was a rush of heat through Steve’s whole body, unfurling in his chest, pooling in his belly, and he was certain his face must’ve been sunburnt because there was too much heat in his cheeks. Steve felt clumsy, all hormones and nerves, and even more so because it was Bucky—Bucky, who’d had his hands up girls’ skirts; Bucky, who started kissing people when he was twelve.

But it was clear that Bucky was trying to assuage Steve’s fears about being inadequate. He went slowly, only slipping his tongue into Steve’s mouth when Steve let his lips part. Steve let his own tongue dart out, hesitant, and Bucky hummed as he met him halfway. The hum was most likely meant as encouragement, Steve knew that, but it sort of felt like he’d flat lined and then his heart kicked back into gear doing double time.

Steve’s fingers were tangled in the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. Bucky snaked his arm around so his hand was pressed flat between Steve’s shoulder blades, applying pressure until their chests came together. Steve was too hot—that day was hot even before Bucky suggested kissing, and their shirts were already sticking to their bodies, but now Steve welcomed the fire in his bones. He pressed into Bucky, and he felt Bucky smile against his lips, a little bit smug. Steve didn’t really think as he dug his teeth into Bucky’s lower lip because it was mostly meant as retaliation. Except then a sound tore from Bucky’s throat and he moved to Steve’s neck and began to suck, and oh, that was good. That was really good.

Eventually, after God knows how long of just making out, Steve’s mom came home. They jumped apart when they heard the front door but they had plenty of time to straighten themselves out before Mrs. Rogers walked in, and as always, Bucky leapt off the couch to help her with her bags of groceries. Steve followed suit, but generally, his mom accepted Bucky’s help more readily because he was stronger and she didn’t want to be responsible for causing one of Steve’s asthma attacks.

When they finally sat back down on the couch to listen to the baseball game, Bucky sat closer than what was normal for them. Steve met his eye and Bucky grinned. “How was it?” It fell just shy of Bucky’s usual confidence.

“Good,” Steve had said, faltering before he added, “Really good.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, thanks.”

“I meant it, Steve. Won’t tell a soul.” For all Bucky’s swagger and smarm, for the way he oozed sarcasm and never passed up a chance to make fun of Steve, Steve’s certain Bucky kept that promise.

Bucky was the only person he kissed for a long time. He wasn’t lying to Peggy when he said he wasn’t good with women. He always hoped he’d inherit some of Bucky’s charm, that maybe he’d get lucky and some of it would rub off or transfer by osmosis, but it never seemed to happen. Eventually, he was fine with that. He was glad he’d gotten a chance to kiss Bucky (or whatever that was, since it was probably more than just a simple kiss) because then he knew what it was. He didn’t have to wonder; he knew what it was like, spit slick and wet and hot, the way it spread through his body and settled in his stomach.

He didn’t kiss anyone again until that blonde girl when Peggy had walked in. And then Peggy, but that was a quick peck. It meant a lot to him, he really liked her and it was one of the things he held onto as he plunged down into the ice. He’d had her photo on his dashboard, but he had the photo of him and Bucky in his breast pocket, close to his heart. He’d taken out Peggy’s photo while they talked, but as he spoke with her about their plans to go dancing, he’d traced the outline of the photo of Bucky with his thumb.

Steve blinks back to the present, and Bucky is staring at him with this fond expression on his face that has Steve’s intestines tied in a fierce knot.

He swallows. May as well come clean, full disclosure.

“We kissed twice, actually.”

Bucky snorts. “Well, that first one can hardly be counted as a singular—”

“Shut up,” Steve cuts him off, and he hopes it’s dark enough that Bucky can’t see the way his cheeks burn. Based on the way Bucky’s still leering at him, it’s not nearly dark enough.

“No, after that. Do you remember, my first mission, the only time I was, I could—” He cleared his throat. “You were strapped to a metal table when I found you. We ended up confronting Schmidt. You know.” Steve gestures. “Red face, Voldemort nose.” They’d marathoned Harry Potter last week, so Bucky now knows the reference.

Bucky stares at him blankly. “Vaguely. I can’t pick out details, but I remember bits and pieces.”

Steve’s voice feels stuck, but Bucky deserves to know. He clears his throat. “Well, the place was burning to the ground. I got you over a bridge first and made sure you were safe, but then the bridge exploded and I was stranded. I jumped across.”

Steve sees the exact moment the memory comes back to Bucky. “I was gonna kill you myself,” he says, and yeah, there’s the Bucky Steve knows.

“Do you remember after?”

Bucky stares into space, doesn’t say a word for a minute. And then he turns to Steve, and Steve feels like he’s naked with the way Bucky’s staring at him.

“Yeah. You almost didn’t make it all the way. You grabbed my arm and I yanked you up. I expected you to be the same skinny twerp I left behind.” He laughs. “You were _heavy_.”

“And then…”

“Yeah. You…” Bucky chuckles. “When I pulled you up, you ended up on top of me.”

They hadn’t had long because the entire place was going to explode. But Steve took half a second to catch his breath, and with the adrenaline high, the buzz of getting across and the fact that they were going to make it, something snapped in both of them and they moved in the same instant, sealing their mouths together. It was brief but it was full of gratitude, of wonder, of sheer joy. It was _we’re gonna get out of here alive_ and _I thought you were dead_ and _oh thank God, thank_ God _we’re finally back together._

Steve hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on it, not really. He knew most friends didn’t just platonically kiss on the mouth, and he was glad none of the soldiers saw, but it was still him and Bucky. That was all that mattered.

All of it came back to him in a rush after Bucky fell, after he was gone—the memory of Bucky grabbing his arm as he flung himself over the explosions below, dislocating his shoulder from his socket but Bucky saved him, pulled him away from the flames. It hurt that much more that Steve couldn’t save him from the ice.

“You’re an open book, Rogers. Cut it out,” Bucky says sternly, breaking the silence, and Steve feigns confusion.

“What?”

“Quit blaming yourself. You’ve never been good with hiding how you feel.”

Steve doesn’t protest because Bucky’s telling the truth. Steve can put on a warrior face when they’re on a mission, pretend like the sight of someone else’s blood on the floor doesn’t affect him, even if he wasn’t the one to pull the trigger ( _they were the enemy, Steve, you did what you needed to in order to stop them, to save other lives_ ), but when it comes to his friends, he’s pretty damn awful at hiding what he feels.

Quiet settles over them again, broken only by squealing tires and car horns and the laughter of people passing by below. They’re still staring out at the city, up at the stars, and it isn’t weird—it miraculously isn’t awkward in spite of the fact that they just candidly acknowledged that they’ve kissed. Twice.

It’s probably ten minutes later that Bucky finally nudges Steve with his elbow. “Come on. I’m famished. Let’s order from that new Chinese place we’ve been meaning to try.”

And that’s that. Bucky flings noodles at him until they’re dangling from Steve’s hair, and they watch horrible TV, and they fall asleep like that on the couch, Steve curled up against Bucky’s shoulder.

 

xXxXx

 

It’s a week later that Hydra comes to take back their Winter Soldier.

They must pick the lock, because Steve doesn’t hear a thing until all of a sudden Bucky’s yelling for him from the guestroom and Steve spring out of bed, immediately alert. He grabs his shield and bursts in.

There are three people, and Bucky’s in full assassin mode, any traces of exhaustion or fogginess from sleep are gone, but they’re also trained Hydra agents, and he’s almost evenly matched.

Steve throws his shield and knocks one of them over, and he sees the relief on Bucky’s face before one of the other guys gets a roundhouse kick to Bucky’s head, knocking him over and leaving him momentarily dazed. The guy takes the extra moment to extract a deadly-looking knife, glinting dangerously in the dim light filtering in through the window. Steve knows why they haven’t come with assault rifles and automatics—they want to take Bucky in alive.

Steve screams and comes at the guy, dodging his knife with his shield, but it’s tough to grab the knife without doing bodily harm to the agent. Bucky manages to hop back up to his feet and he gets his left arm around the guy’s neck from behind, applying pressure until the agent stops struggling and collapses in a heap, lines from the joints of Bucky’s metal arm across his throat.

The other agent pulls a handgun out and Steve just barely manages to jump in front of Bucky in time, the bullet casings falling at their feet. The agent growls and shoots beneath the shield, and this time he succeeds, shooting Bucky in the leg. Bucky cusses and there’s blood oozing from the wound, but it riles him up, invigorates him. Bucky punches him in the face and knocks the gun from his hand, and then he’s pushing and pushing until he shatters the glass and pushes the man through the window. Steve hears himself cry, “Bucky, no!” and he grabs Bucky’s shirt to keep him from hurdling over as he lets go, watches the agent fall three stories down. It’s not enough to kill him, Steve can still see his chest heaving but it’s definitely enough to break a few ribs, probably give him a severe concussion, and they can leave him where he is until SHIELD shows up.

They’re on the scene five minutes later. They bring a medical team and Steve watches in agony as Bucky hisses through his teeth when they remove the bullet. The blood streams down his leg, and even with the searing pain of being stitched up, Bucky realizes before it can stain Steve’s couch, so he grabs the EMT’s hand away for a moment and sinks down to the floor instead, hardwood instead of carpet. Significantly easier to mop up blood.

Steve doesn’t give a damn about bloodstains on his couch, but Bucky gives him a grim smile as the woman resumes sewing up the wound.

Steve briefs Fury on what happened and Fury’s face is set like stone.

“We need to get you better armed, Captain. Do you even have an alarm?”

“I do!” Steve counters; the thing’s old, though, not many bells and whistles, and he’s guessing the agents hacked it fairly easily.

“Would you be opposed to us installing security cameras?” Steve hesitates and Fury adds, “Just to the outside façade of your apartment and the hallway leading up to your front door.”

Steve mumbles that he’s pretty sure there is a camera at his front door, but it’s not monitored by SHIELD, it’s mostly just for the sake of the landlord in case anything happens. He knows Fury’s right, and he agrees to it.

“We’ll wire them up so that both SHIELD and Jarvis can see them 24 hours a day.” Fury glances over at Bucky. “I understand that you want your privacy, Rogers. We just want to make sure something like this doesn’t happen again.”

Bucky chimes in from where the nurse is wrapping his leg with a bandage. “It may not. They sent their three best agents, and now they’ll end up rotting in a jail cell for a long time, each with significant injuries to speak of.” The EMTs had taken the agents out first, carrying them out on stretchers one by one. Neither Steve nor Bucky delivered any fatal wounds, but it’s going to be a while before those Hydra agents are back on their feet.

“Hydra is always hiring new people,” Fury replies, watching as Bucky stands on shaky legs and hobbles over. “We want to protect you. If you ever end up getting a place on your own, we’ll ask to put the same surveillance measures in place.” He looks back and forth between them with a knowing expression.

“Can we also install a more rigorous alarm?”

Steve concedes to that, too. As long as they’re not tapping the inside of his apartment, he’s not really opposed to any of it. He’s never really bothered because he hasn’t dealt with too many security breaches, and each of them he was able to handle on his own. Now, with Bucky living with him, he’ll probably sleep better knowing that SHIELD is wired up to his apartment. Just in case.

Fury claps a hand on his shoulder and says, “Captain, don’t hesitate to call if anything comes up. We’ll have someone come in to replace your window tomorrow, but I’m posting a guard outside your apartment for the night.” Then he holds his hand out to Bucky, who looks a little surprised but he shakes anyway. “Barnes, try to get some rest.”

Then everyone is whisked out and they’re all gone within three minutes, leaving Steve and Bucky alone to clean up the mess.

Bucky takes charge of cleaning the hardwood, which is probably for the best because if Steve had to clean Bucky’s blood off his floor again, there’s a chance he might puke. Steve moves the furniture back to where it had been. Bucky’s nightstand had gotten knocked over in the struggle, and his bed was pushed nearly to the other side of the room.

Bucky finishes first, limps in to watch Steve finish up and shove his bed back into place. They stare at each other for a few seconds, and then Bucky jerks his head toward the bed. “C’mon,” he says, wincing as he lowers himself to the mattress, using both hands to pull his leg up so he can lie back. When Steve’s still frozen, Bucky huffs, “Don’t be shy. Climb in.”

Steve goes, sliding next to Bucky as carefully as he can, so as not to jostle him. Bucky ends up facing the window (Fury must have had the EMTs sweep up the mess for that one when they brought the Hydra agents out, because there’s no trace of the shattered glass).

“It doesn’t bother you? We can go to my bed if you want.”

“No, it’s fine,” Bucky murmurs, turning his head to look at Steve over his shoulder, and Steve knows Bucky will face the window all night as a precaution, but he’d seen the way Bucky exhaled when Fury said there would be someone on guard for them for the night.

“Are you gonna…?” Bucky trails off, implying whether Steve’s going to move in close to him.

Steve shakes his head. “Don’t want to hurt your leg.” He looks at the blood-stained bandage. “Did you even take any painkillers?”

Bucky gives him a look. “Don’t ask dumb questions, Steve.”

Steve rolls his eyes. Bucky’s still looking over his shoulder, considering Steve like he’s making up his mind. He ends up saying, “Well at least just—” and then reaching back, pulling Steve’s arm around his waist. Steve’s still not touching him anywhere else.

“You sure this is okay?” he asks, afraid he’ll end up sidling up to Bucky in his sleep, and the last thing Bucky needs is to wake up screaming in pain because an unconscious Steve tried to snuggle with him.

“I’ll be fine.” Bucky’s voice is barely audible as he adds, “Want you close.”

The warmth that spreads through Steve’s chest sort of reminds him of the way he felt when Bucky kissed him, a flashback to being fifteen and sweaty and pressed close, so close, to his best friend.

 

xXxXx

 

The next morning is normal.

Sort of.

Steve’s out of bed before Bucky wakes up and he goes for his run. It feels like there’s extra energy stored in his muscles, in his ligaments and joints and marrow. A current that’s built, that’s building, and he doesn’t know what it is but it’s flowing freely through his body now.

He comes home and showers, and it’s the first time in a while that he finds his cock is flushed and bobbing up against his stomach before he touches it. Generally he can compartmentalize it, the traces of want that emerge here and there. He thinks maybe it’s serum-related, because Natasha insists that no man who feels lust can just keep to himself for so long. She’s tried to set him up with mostly women, and she even threw in a few men for good measure; Steve just wasn’t interested. He’d gone on a few coffee dates to placate Natasha, but she could tell his heart wasn’t in it.

Steve cleans the pipes routinely to keep his focus from straying. This, here, feels different, his body being at attention like this. He’s buzzing, sizzling beneath his skin, and when he brings himself off this time, it’s faster, and it comes from somewhere deeper, tucked away, somewhere he tends not to access. It blooms up from his spine, sparks through the pit of his stomach. It leaves him winded.

He spends a little extra time in the shower after that, inhaling steam, focusing on the heat, the water pounding into his shoulders, his back, cascading across the planes of his chest and curling down his legs. He tries to evaluate, to analyze where his head’s at. He can’t quite figure it out.

That is, until he walks into the kitchen and Bucky has already made him a cup of tea, just the way he likes it. Bucky steps into Steve’s space, presses the mug into Steve’s hand and plants a chaste kiss on his lips.

Steve is frozen, the ceramic scalding against the pads of his fingers as Bucky wanders away like it’s nothing. Bucky grabs his own coffee off the counter, glances up and sees that Steve is still gawking. He gives a coy smile and a one-shoulder shrug. “Figured the third time would be the charm.”

Except it’s not just the third time, it becomes part of their routine, and it’s scary how quickly it feels normal. They sleep in the same bed more often than not, even if it’s not every night. Bucky needs space sometimes, needs room to breathe when the memories hit hard, and Steve understands that. Bucky’s still working on communication—he’s working on figuring out what he needs and how to tell Steve, but he’s gotten better at it.

They kiss good morning, and they kiss goodnight. It never strays, never turns into anything besides a quick press of lips. It’s a habit after only a few days, one that neither of them thinks about. Well, not one Steve dwells on consciously.

 

xXxXx

 

Sometimes, Bucky disappears for hours. The first time he goes off the radar and Steve can’t reach him by phone, Fury pressures Steve to keep a better eye on Bucky, to shadow him or agree to let SHIELD do it. Steve meets with Fury the next day to say “absolutely not” in person.

“He’s trying to find himself out there. I’m not going to hinder his progress. I trust him.”

“It’s not a trust issue. I don’t think Bucky’s going around meeting up with Hydra operatives behind our backs. But there’s a chance he’ll remember something while he’s out, and it could compromise him. PTSD is a fickle thing, Steve.”

“It’s a chance we have to take.” Steve’s not willing to give an inch on this. “Listen to me, Nick. You can’t do that to him. He will know he’s being tailed. He already feels enormous amounts of guilt, okay? He thinks he’s a monster. You will make him think he’s right.”

Fury purses his lips and rocks back on his heels. “This is a risk.”

“You have to be willing to take it.” Fury looks like he’s going to say something more but he swallows it. That’s not acceptable. “No, Fury, you have to tell me you won’t. You have to give me your word.”

Fury laughs incredulously. “You don’t know when to back down.” Steve just stares with his arms crossed until Fury holds up his hands, says, “Fine. We won’t. But if anything happens—”

“If anything happens, _I_ will be the one to go around the city with him. Not SHIELD.”

Fury narrows his eyes, turns on his heel and walks off. Steve never knows who’s telling the truth these days, but he’s pretty sure Fury knows how adamant he is about this. So far, Steve has been right with everything else about Bucky. Bucky hasn’t hurt anyone besides the Hydra agents who came for him, and even then, he didn’t kill any of them; he hasn’t forgotten everything since he moved into Steve’s apartment. He suffers, heaven knows how Bucky suffers with the panic attacks and the nightmares, but he’s wading through it.

Bucky always wades through it.

Natasha was right. Most men wouldn’t have survived this. Most men would’ve died or given up decades ago.

 

xXxXx

 

The panic attacks are worse now, sometimes several times within a week, and then sometimes he’ll go days without.

One night he sits curled in on himself, hyperventilating, hugging his knees and rocking back and forth. When Steve worms a hand in to place it on Bucky’s chest (only after Bucky indicated that it was okay for Steve to approach—sometimes he rides it out by himself), his heart is pounding too rapidly, even for a super soldier.

“Can I sit?” Steve asks, and Bucky nods jerkily. Steve doesn’t try to relocate Bucky from where he is on the floor, just sits, opens his legs, and tugs until Bucky’s in between and his back is pressed to Steve’s chest. Steve wraps his arms around Bucky, envelops him completely.

Bucky’s sweating all over, grits through chattering teeth, “I smell, I’m a wreck” and Steve cuts him off quickly with, “I don’t care.”

Sometimes Bucky’s panic attacks feel like waves— like one moment it’s dragging him through a riptide, and the next it deposits him on the shore and he gets some time to breathe, and then the ocean returns and pulls him under again. He’ll have a few minutes where the tremors subside, where he can almost breathe again, but then he’s back to gasping and clutching himself tightly, fingers scrabbling at his knees or the floor. Steve rides the waves with him. Sometimes Bucky’s left hand leaves dents and scratches in the hardwood, and he always apologizes. The only reason Steve gets the floors patched up when Bucky’s out is because he knows Bucky feels horrible every time he sees them because it reminds him of what he perceives to be his “weakness.” It breaks Steve’s heart, because he doesn’t know anyone stronger than Bucky Barnes.

He doesn’t try to tell Bucky “it’s okay” because it’s futile and it’s not true. Bucky’s safe now, sure, but trying to pretend that everything’s all right is too invalidating. He said it to Bucky the first time, and Bucky didn’t snap at him or tell him he was wrong, but when Steve lay in bed thinking about it later, he realized his error. He banished the phrase from his vocabulary.

Instead, he says, “You’re safe. I’ve got you. You’re safe now, Bucky.” Always using Bucky's name, trying to bring him back to the here and now.

Steve can tell when it’s nearing the end because Bucky’s eyes will start to droop. Having so much adrenaline coursing through his body—sometimes for an hour, two, three—it’s too exhausting. Steve vaguely knows that from missions. Even if his body takes a beating, it’s the bone-weariness that’s the worst, his body coming down after being in fight-or-flight mode. And in Bucky’s case, it’s more intense, more concentrated. Worse than missions, worse than fighting, because he’s fighting himself, he’s at war with his own body and mind.

Even when the exhaustion comes, it still takes a bit longer for the panic to relinquish its hold on him. If Bucky indicates that he’s okay with being touched and held, Steve will just stroke any part of him that he can reach: arms, legs, back, chest. He goes slow, making sure he’s gentle and doesn’t apply too much pressure. Sometimes Bucky’s too overstimulated to be touched but he still wants Steve’s company. Sometimes, he sends Steve away altogether. Those times are the hardest for Steve, but he knows that Bucky’s articulating his needs, and sometimes he needs to do it alone.

Tonight, Bucky slowly goes lax in Steve’s arms, finally leaning back and resting his head on Steve’s chest. There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead, slicking the space above his upper lip, drops rolling down from his temples.

“You can’t fix me,” he mumbles, tilting his head to look up at Steve.

“I know,” Steve replies, quiet. “I’m not trying to fix you, Buck. I don’t think you’re broken. I know I can’t solve this part of it. I know me being here isn’t a magical cure. That’s not what I want, that’s not what I’m trying to do.” Bucky gazes up at him, eyelids starting to droop, but this is important, Steve wants Bucky to understand.

“I just want you to know you’re not alone. You’ve got someone on your side. I’m not trying to pick you up and carry you away from your problems, because that doesn’t work. This is your fight. But I’m at your side, for all of it.”

“You’ve gotten mushy in your old age,” Bucky says, and Steve smiles down at him. He sees the tears swimming in Bucky’s eyes as he’s drifting off in Steve’s arms; he knows Bucky hears him and understands.

“C’mon.” Steve stands and hoists Bucky up. “Like you said, I’m an old man. It won’t be good for my back if I fall asleep on the floor.”

Bucky allows Steve to help him to his feet. Steve leads them toward Bucky’s bedroom, because generally Bucky prefers to be in his own space when he’s coming down from this, but Bucky says, “Nuh-uh. Your room.”

Steve tilts his head. “Why?” he asks, even though once the word’s out he realizes that maybe it’s not something he should ask.

Bucky flushes but he meets Steve’s gaze and says, “It smells like you. It’s comforting.”

Steve doesn’t make a thing of it, even though he can feel something in his chest tighten and then snap. “Okay. Whatever you need.” Bucky flops down on Steve’s bed gracelessly. Steve tugs Bucky’s shirt and jeans off, and Bucky just allows Steve to gently maneuver him around. Steve does the same to himself after, stripping to his underwear and getting them both beneath the covers.

Bucky breaks tradition to turn and face Steve, and he tucks his face into Steve’s neck, inhaling deeply and pressing close until there’s no space between them. Steve needs to make sure, so he asks, “It’s okay if I touch you?”

Bucky snorts and winds both arms around Steve. “Nope. Unacceptable. I’m allowed to wrap myself around you like a damn koala but you’ve got to keep your paws to yourself.”

Steve drops a kiss to Bucky’s hair as he slings an arm over his waist. “Wise ass.”

Steve’s too tired to react to Bucky’s proximity. As he begins to drift off, he thinks to himself that it may be an issue when they get up. It’s already happened a few times, but generally Steve’s out of bed before Bucky is so he just takes care of it. He’s felt Bucky’s morning wood a few times, too. It just happens with the closeness of another person, so neither of them makes a big deal of it. It happened to them when they were teenagers and had sleepovers and it happened a few times in the barracks too. It’s got a different vibe to it now, Steve admits that, but it’s still okay. It’s all good.

The last thought he has before he sleeps is that if it becomes an issue overnight, he’ll cross that bridge in the morning.

 

xXxXx

 

They don’t even make it to the morning.

Steve wakes up around three to the sound of a whimper. He’s at attention immediately and he’s about to reach for Bucky, to wake him from his bad dream, when he realizes that it isn’t a bad dream at all.

Bucky’s still in the circle of Steve’s arms, and the covers are tangled around their waists, so Steve can’t see anything. But Bucky’s pressing his hips into Steve’s thigh in small stuttering thrusts, and he’s hard and leaking.

Steve doesn’t know what to do. Just seeing Bucky like this, feeling Bucky’s erection against him, Steve’s body responds in kind in less than a minute. But it’s not fair to just let Bucky get off like this. It’s probably a knee-jerk reaction to being close to another body; there’s a chance that if Bucky realized it was Steve he was rubbing off against, he’d feel repulsed, and Steve can’t bear the thought of it.

He moves to extricate himself, to maybe slink quietly into the bathroom and take care of business then slip into Bucky’s bed. Of course, Bucky tightens his arms. Steve’s a strong-willed man but Bucky certainly isn’t making this easy.

The next plan that unfolds in Steve’s mind is that he’ll pretend he’s asleep and think of horrible gruesome things to keep himself from waking up with sticky shorts in the morning. But then Bucky, who’s still clearly asleep, slurs, “Steve, _please_.”

That gets Steve’s attention.

He’s trying to convince himself that it’s a fluke when Bucky opens his eyes. He doesn’t seem at all disoriented with where he is, or who he’s with. He presses closer and when he finds that Steve’s in a similar state of arousal, he moves in until there’s only an inch or two separating their faces.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace,” Bucky murmurs low, and Steve can feel each word against his mouth.

All he can say is just, “God, _Bucky_ ,” and then they’re kissing, a desperate press of lips and teeth clacking in the wake of their urgency. Bucky separates them and angles his head differently and oh, there, right there. They fall into it as easily as breathing, the flicker of their tongues against each other, the wet slide of it making Steve’s stomach lurch.

Bucky rolls them until Steve’s on top, opening his legs easily so Steve slots in between, and it’s sheer bliss, lining up and thrusting messily against each other. Even with two layers of fabric separating them it’s fantastic, because their cocks are lined up, sliding together. They only do it for a minute before Bucky grabs Steve’s hips to hold him still.

“This will be over in three seconds if you don’t stop.”

“So what?” Steve says, but he stills his hips anyway. Bucky slides his hand up Steve’s arm and grabs him by the back of his neck, tugs until they’re kissing again, long and deep and slow.

“So? I want more than that,” Bucky replies a few minutes later when they separate, and Steve has to think back to the last thing he said in order to follow Bucky’s train of thought.

He groans. “Don’t know if I’ll last that long,” he warns, and Bucky gives him a lazy smile, spreading his legs even more and canting his hips up.

“Neither will I.” Bucky’s had both hands on Steve’s ass for the past few minutes, but now he lets one of his flesh fingers dip below the waistband of Steve’s briefs into the cleft of his ass, pressing lightly against Steve’s tailbone. Steve trembles finely with the sheer implication of it.

“Have you ever?” Bucky asks, and Steve shakes his head, swallowing hard. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it, and with Bucky’s fingers inching closer and closer, he thinks he may be amenable. When Bucky removes his hand, Steve whines in the most undignified way possible.

“Not for the first time, Steve. I’ve got experience. It won’t hurt me.”

Steve just stares, lips parted, and the air he’s drawing in feels thick and soupy.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “We can chat about my sexual history over breakfast tomorrow. For now, do you have lube?”

Steve has to think about it. He might have some in the bathroom somewhere, maybe. Bucky huffs. “Go in my room, in my nightstand drawer. It’ll be the first thing you see.”

Steve beams. “Getting busy lately?”

Bucky stares coolly, raises an eyebrow. “What do you think I do on the nights when I’m not in bed with you?”

Steve’s cock pulses, because Bucky’s not mouthing off, he’s serious, and in the next heartbeat he’s up and sprinting out of the room. Bucky wasn’t kidding when he said it was on top, because Steve has no trouble finding it even in the dark.

He rushes back in and lowers himself to the mattress. He stops on his journey up to peel Bucky’s briefs off. He’s seen Bucky’s dick too many times to count—tight quarters, and it wasn’t a big deal—but he hasn’t seen him like this, never like this. Bucky gives a knowing smile at Steve’s awed expression and says, “Come up here,” so he can do the same to Steve. Bucky actually licks his lips at the sight of Steve’s cock, and they end up getting sidetracked—Steve takes both of their dicks in hand and gives a few experimental pulls until Bucky snags the bottle of lube from Steve’s hand and opens it, pouring some onto his palm and batting Steve’s hand away from his dick.

“I can do it, if you want,” he offers.

“Are you kidding? No way. Just show me,” Steve replies, and Bucky murmurs, “Suit yourself,” before he’s reaching down and coating Steve’s fingers, and he guides Steve’s hand between his legs. Steve circles his finger around the sensitive pucker, getting the entire area slick. Bucky’s head falls back and he tries to shift so that Steve’s fingers are where he wants them.

“Seems like you won’t need much of a tutorial,” Bucky says breathlessly. Steve leans up, kisses the corner of Bucky’s mouth as he slowly presses his finger inside, just to the first knuckle. Bucky squeezes around his finger like a vice, and Steve has to grip the base of his cock, because the notion of being inside Bucky like this is almost too much and Steve’s already so close.

Bucky shoves down on Steve’s finger. “Come on, I can take more.” In spite of Bucky’s impatience, in spite of his insistence, Steve takes his time, twisting his wrist as he pumps in and out, and when he’s finally got his finger fully inside, all he can do is watch Bucky’s face. Bucky’s hair is fanned across Steve’s pillow, his mouth opening and closing as he bites down on his bottom lip, and Steve can see the white indentations with how hard Bucky’s digging his teeth in.

“Don’t hold back, Bucky. Wanna hear you.”

A noise tears from Bucky’s throat that Steve’s never heard before, and he makes it his mission to elicit those noises as many times as he possibly can before this is over. He wants to make an entire catalogue, a soundtrack of Bucky falling apart.

Steve slides a second finger in and presses his lips to the tender skin on the side of Bucky’s knee, trailing kisses up to the juncture of his thigh and hip. He crooks his fingers experimentally, searching, and when Bucky’s back arches off the bed (he’s breathtaking, _stunning_ , Steve doesn’t know how they went so many years without this), Steve memorizes that spot and just strokes the pads of his fingers over it.

Bucky’s stopped trying to suppress his noises and just the sound and sight of him like this, giving himself up, it’s enough to make Steve’s head spin, dizzy and aching with how much he wants—and more importantly, how much Bucky’s trust and vulnerability means. Bucky’s got his right hand clenched in Steve’s hair, pulling, and that, apparently, is like a direct line to Steve’s dick, just riding the edge of pain-pleasure. Bucky’s left hand is twisted in the sheets, and there’s a chance he might tear right through the comforter with how hard he’s digging his fingers in.

Steve’s got his two fingers sliding in and out steadily, his ring finger dancing around the rim, just teasing, and Bucky tugs at his hair with a curse. “You gotta stop, Steve,” he says, and there’s just a trace of his old Brooklyn accent. Steve removes his fingers and lets himself be pulled up. Bucky’s immediately got his tongue past Steve’s lips, their kisses turned sloppy with how lust-fogged they both are.

“I’m assuming you don’t have any condoms, either,” Bucky says when they break away for air, and Steve mouths along Bucky’s jaw and admits that he doesn’t.

“Do you?”

Bucky shakes his head. “I didn’t let myself hope,” he responds, trailing off, and Steve has to drag his mouth down to Bucky’s neck to hide his face. Neither did he.

“We can wait, you know,” Steve says, licking a stripe across Bucky’s pulse. Bucky tips his head back and Steve can feel it when he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing beneath his lips.

“I got tested a few weeks ago,” Bucky says, so soft Steve can barely hear him. He lifts his head in surprise and studies Bucky’s face.

“Thought you said you didn’t hope for this,” Steve rasps, his voice shot, and Bucky chuckles.

“Didn’t hope for _this_ ,” he says, tilting his hips up so Steve’s cock slides behind his balls, to where he’s prepped and slick. “I figured eventually we could work up to a blowjob in the shower.” He winks and Steve’s certain the oxygen has been sucked from the room. Bucky flushes and his voice is low again when he asks, “Would you still want this now? I’m clean, found out last week. I’m assuming you are,” he says and there’s a trace of a teasing smile, but mostly he’s watching for Steve’s reaction.

“Yeah, Buck. Anything.”

“Then you better hurry up, ‘cause I’ve got maybe three minutes,” Bucky replies, and Steve manages to sound a little disapproving when he scolds, “You never were patient, were you?”

“Not with you,” Bucky counters, and Steve can’t deny him, can’t deny how badly he’s aching by now. Bucky searches until he finds the bottle of lube that he’d tossed aside at some point, and he uses it to slick up Steve’s cock, tugging gently with a flick of his wrist, and Steve rests his forehead against Bucky’s shoulder, letting the metal cool his burning face. He thinks his blood may be boiling.

“Seriously, you do realize how fast this is gonna be over, right?” he mutters, and Bucky puts both hands on Steve’s cheeks, guides his face up so he can look into Steve’s eyes.

“I’d give you all sorts of shit for your lack of stamina, but I’m in the same boat,” he murmurs, so damn earnest, then he takes Steve’s dick in his right hand and lines him up. “Just go slow, okay?” He wraps his legs around Steve’s waist and digs his heels in, urging Steve on.

Steve presses until the head of his cock is engulfed, and there are traces of pain on Bucky’s face, so Steve peppers him with kisses, trying to distract himself so he doesn’t lose it before he’s even all the way inside.

“Go,” Bucky commands after a few moments, and Steve draws upon all of his self control to move slowly, bottoming out and then holding himself perfectly still while Bucky adjusts. Bucky takes a few breaths through his nose, then he rolls his hips, fucks himself back on Steve’s cock, and Steve feels it _everywhere_.

Bucky cups Steve’s face in his left hand, then flinches and tries to pull it away, but Steve nuzzles into his metal palm, laces his fingers through to keep Bucky’s hand right where it is.

“Want all of you,” he says, and Bucky’s expression crumbles into something gut-wrenching. He must know because he leans up until he can take Steve’s bottom lip into his mouth, and he uses his other hand to grab at Steve’s ass and pull him deeper, closer. Always closer.

Steve meets him thrust for thrust, the obscene sounds of slick and slapping skin filling the room. It’s only a few minutes before Steve feels the arousal coil in his stomach, and Bucky clenches his muscles, gripping Steve like a glove. He can tell Steve’s close.

“I’ve got you, I’m right there with you,” Bucky whispers, and Steve slides his hand up from where he’d been clutching Bucky’s hip in favor of wrapping his fingers around Bucky’s cock. Bucky comes with a broken cry after only a few strokes, and the spatter-wax of it against their bellies is what tips Steve over. He comes and pants into Bucky’s mouth, a sound that’s at least an octave above his normal range slipping from between his lips and Bucky just laps it right up, catches it on his tongue.

Steve’s entire body tingles, exhausted and spent. He pulls out of Bucky as slowly as he can manage, and Bucky lets out a shaky exhale but the lines on his forehead smooth back out a moment later. Steve reaches off the bed, dunks a corner of his boxers in the glass of tepid water that’s been by his bedside for at least three days now, and he wipes Bucky down. Bucky hisses, but he grunts his satisfaction once he’s clean again. Steve tosses his boxers aside then scoots back in. Bucky’s lying on his back still, and Steve tugs at him until he slides over so that neither of them are in the wet spot. Bucky grumbles but Steve curls up against his side, hitching a leg up around Bucky’s waist, and there’s a faint smile on Bucky’s face. He’s sated and exhausted and happy, God, Bucky looks _happy_. Steve’s overcome with the sensation that he’s been holding his breath for months, years, decades and finally seeing Bucky looking content—demons temporarily at bay, thrumming with a post-coital glow and the corners of his mouth turned up—he can finally exhale again.

Bucky turns his head and opens his eyes, drawing his thumb across Steve’s lip, and Steve can’t help the reflexive grin on his face, couldn’t fight it even if he tried.

“You’ve got a sappy look on your face,” Bucky observes, looking smug and maybe a little bit astounded, like he’s still shocked he can have this.

Steve needs him to know that he can, that Steve’s his, maybe has always been his. “I’m feeling pretty sappy at the moment,” he replies easily. Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Are you gonna do something disgustingly cheesy, like write ‘Bucky + Steve’ in the sky?”

Steve chuckles. “I think it’d embarrass you.”

“Damn right,” Bucky replies, but there’s no bite to it. His expression is too fond for that.

They’ll talk about this later—this will be an ongoing conversation—but Steve does need to say something now.

“You won’t do anything that could ever scare me away,” he says, his voice quiet and serious. Bucky’s eyes are piercing and bright and a little damp, even in the dark. “You can’t do anything that would make me not want you.”

Bucky turns to look up at the ceiling, and Steve waits patiently, knowing Bucky’s trying to find the right words.

He adds softly, “You don’t have to believe me. I’ll prove it to you. But I need you to hear it.”

Bucky nods twice, slowly, swallowing hard. Then he rolls on his side, searches Steve’s face, and decides on something other than words. He spits on his palm. Steve beams at him, spits on his own hand without a moment’s hesitation and they shake on it.

 _I’m with you ‘til the end of the line_.

 

xXxXx

 

Like when they started kissing, it’s frightening how quickly their physical relationship grows into a routine.

The following evening, Bucky sneaks into the bathroom while Steve’s in the shower. Steve hears the door open and close and just thinks maybe Bucky needs to piss or something, but then Bucky slips past the shower curtain and steps under the spray, stark naked.

Steve raises his eyebrows. Bucky smirks at him, suggestive and oozing with intent. “Thought I’d join you.”

Steve’s already hard, memories from the previous night were playing through his head before Bucky even entered the bathroom. Bucky’s always been the sort to skip right over any sort of preamble, so he just drops to his knees, Steve’s erection at his eyelevel as he looks up Steve’s body. Steve’s cock hardens under the weight of Bucky’s gaze, and without a single word, Bucky leans forward, plants his hands on Steve’s thighs and swallows Steve to the root.

Steve didn’t think it was possible for his body to come faster than he did last night.

He was wrong.

 

xXxXx

 

Bucky walks around one day with his hair pulled into a bun at the nape of his neck beneath his baseball cap. Steve knows Darcy tried to explain to Thor about how “man buns” are currently considered attractive in popular culture, and Thor let her play with his hair, then drag him around to everybody to show off how fantastic he looked. Steve hadn’t paid much attention.

Except maybe now, he gets it.

He stares and stares, and Bucky finally looks up with a bewildered smile. “What’s up?”

Steve says nothing, just tackles him to the floor.

When he knocks Bucky’s hat off, Bucky’s on top of him, straddling him, and Steve goes for Bucky’s hair without really thinking. He hesitates, because having his hair grabbed may be tied up with negative associations. But Bucky whimpers, and Steve bucks up, tugging on Bucky’s bun.

Bucky rides him right there on the floor, hard and fast. After, he braces his arms on Steve’s chest, panting, barely holding himself up.

“What was that about?”

Steve doesn’t respond, just lets his hand trip up Bucky’s arm to weave his fingers into Bucky’s hair again.

Bucky grins wolfishly. “Oh.”

And after that, he wears his hair up. A lot.

 

xXxXx

 

Soon enough, Bucky comes to one of the Avengers’ movie nights.

They take turns on where they do it, but tonight Tony insists on setting up his massive projector in his floor of the Tower because there’s a bar there and the projector’s quality is significantly better than anyone else’s TV, of course.

Everybody’s kind to Bucky. Not that Steve expected anything less, but he wasn’t sure how this was going to go. Bucky’s met all of them in passing; he’s had conversations with a few. He’d met Natasha first. Back when Bucky was still in his first room at Stark Tower, still recovering from the physical and mental strain of waking up from being the Winter Soldier, Steve mentioned to Nat that Bucky had remembered his mission against them, and he told her he thought it was safe if she were to drop by sometime.  She showed up with zero warning, and Bucky had shot up in bed, recognizing her.

“Down, boy,” she’d said with a knowing grin. “I’m not here to kill you in your sleep.”

Bucky had the good grace to lower his eyes and mumble an apology, but Natasha was having none of it. She’d pulled up a chair and put her feet on his bed, making herself comfortable. “Wasn’t you, I know that. You don’t have to apologize to me.” She stares at him coolly. “You’re a pretty skilled fighter, James.”

“You can call me Bucky,” he murmured, still looking ashamed but Steve could tell that Bucky took to Natasha immediately. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Fine,” she said with a shrug. “I’ve had far worse. Seriously, don’t sweat it.”

Bucky takes a shaky breath and lets it out. “Okay.”

Then they talk about weapons, they compare notes on the training they were put through. She says she wants to spar with him sometime, and Bucky looks skeptical.

“You sure about that?”

Natasha doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I think I could afford to learn a thing or two from you.”

Tonight, she’s the first to approach him, and she leans in and air-kisses his cheek. Bucky looks floored by it for a minute (and it’s Natasha, Steve knows what it’s like to be physically close to her—you kind of go cross-eyed and a little lightheaded) but he quickly pulls himself together, wrapping his right arm around her and pressing his hand to her lower back in a half hug.

Bruce approaches next. One of the best things about Bruce is that he’s a gentle man, soft-spoken and careful with his words. Steve spares a second to worry Bucky will be annoyed by it, because Bucky doesn’t like the feeling of someone tip-toeing around him, but he doesn’t bristle and his smile seems genuine.

Tony’s the one Steve’s most worried about, and he’d sort of warned Bucky beforehand. Tony has a strong personality. Steve talked to Tony in advance, inquired about whether he felt any bad blood towards Bucky because of how Howard Stark died.

“Nah.” Tony waved dismissively. Steve still felt a bit uncertain, and Tony looked up from whatever he was tinkering with to glance over at him. When he saw Steve’s cautious gaze, he rolled his eyes. “Have you ever known me to hold back in how I feel, Steve? Look. Even if Bucky was the operative that actually carried the entire thing out, he was brainwashed. He was Hydra’s puppet.” He took a few steps toward Steve, gesticulating with a screwdriver still in his hand.

“You generally have pretty good judgment. Not always, but at least a solid eighty-seven percent of the time.” Steve huffed, indignant. “If you’re convinced the man you’re living with is not the Winter Soldier—if you’re sure it’s your good old Bucky— I buy it.”

“He’s not—” Steve had to consider his words carefully, and for once, Tony had waited him out. “He’s not the Bucky I grew up with. But I don’t think it would be fair if we expected him to be. Of course he’s different. He’s harder.”

Tony snorted and Steve muttered, “Shut up. You know.”

“I do,” Tony said. “Well, regardless. You think he’s a good man? You think he’s trying?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s what counts.”

When Tony approaches Bucky now, Steve sees the way Bucky stands up straighter, the way the tension returns to his shoulders and spine.

Tony calls him on it. “Relax. We’re all good. Did you enjoy your time here? I mean, as much as you can enjoy it when you’re being watched all the time. I had nothing to do with that, by the way. SHIELD took the reins on that one.”

“Yes, I did. Like you said, as much as one can ever enjoy being monitored. I appreciate your hospitality.”

Tony says, “Yeah yeah, it’s not a problem. Let’s get you a drink.”

Bucky’s drink of choice has always been Whisky-Coke, and Steve gets a drink too, just for the sake of having it. Neither of them can get drunk anymore unless they drink at least a handle of vodka each, but Steve still enjoys the burn in his gut.

Clint saunters over and, to Steve’s surprise, reaches out his hand for a fistbump. Bucky does his left hand without thinking, and Clint pretends that Bucky hurt his knuckles, hissing through his teeth and clutching his hand to his chest. Bucky looks panicked for about half a second, then he smiles and punches Clint’s arm.

Okay, so apparently they’ve already met. Steve will ask for that story later.

Thor shows up late, but he immediately finds Bucky and boisterously exclaims that it’s an honor to meet him, pumping his hand enthusiastically. Bucky’s cheeks turn a bit pink with the attention, but Thor treats him with utter respect. He tells Bucky sincerely that he’s sorry about “the heavy burdens he’s endured,” but it’s not condescending, it’s earnest and heartfelt. Bucky shoots a glance at Steve, like _get a load of this guy,_ before he claps Thor on the shoulder and says that it’s okay, that he’s come out alive and that’s the important thing. Thor says, “Cheers to that,” and downs his beer in a single swig.

Bucky returns to Steve. “I can’t put my finger on why, but I like him.”

Steve chuckles. “That’s how most people feel about Thor.”

They purposely picked a romantic comedy in order to avoid any loud gunshots or the sight of a lot of blood—something light-hearted that they can all make fun of. Steve’s pretty sure Bucky would be able to cope with any sort of screen violence if he knew it was coming, but they didn’t want to take chances, not when this is Bucky making his first impression. Steve’s certain Bucky knows the reason for their movie choice, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s more than willing to join in and mock the overused romance tropes alongside everyone.

Steve and Bucky are sitting on a love seat with Natasha and Pepper on Steve’s right side. Over the course of the movie, Steve drapes an arm across the back of the couch, and his hand slowly drifts down until he’s brushing his fingers over Bucky’s neck. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and while Bucky leans subtly into the touch, Steve’s pretty sure Bucky’s not conscious of it either. Natasha looks over at one point and gives Steve a small smile. Steve doesn’t get it, he really doesn’t until Natasha pointedly directs her gaze to where Steve’s fingers are caressing Bucky’s neck.

He doesn’t know what to say to Natasha but she shushes him before he can get the words out. “I’m happy for you, Steve,” she mouths, then she winks and turns back to watch the film. Bucky only tunes in when he notices that Steve’s staring in her direction, baffled.

“What’d I miss?” he whispers, and Steve shakes his head.

“I forget how perceptive Natasha can be.”

Bucky cocks his head, just as perplexed as Steve had been, and Steve lightly tugs on Bucky’s hair. Bucky’s mouth falls open, caught off guard by the fact that they’ve been touching the entire time, and Steve laughs under his breath. “I didn’t notice either.”

Bucky’s not even remotely subtle this time as he snuggles in closer to Steve, leaning his head back against Steve’s arm that’s still draped across the back of the loveseat. He settles in with a contented sigh and turns his attention back to the projector. Steve only half pays attention to the movie. Mostly, he’s focused on Bucky’s body heat against his side and the way Bucky’s got his hand on the left side of Steve’s chest, probably unaware that he’s counting Steve’s heartbeat.

 

xXxXx

 

By the end of the night, Steve’s feeling loose and open, unraveled by each of Bucky’s casual touches. It’s not lust burning through him, not quite. It’s something less urgent, something sweeter and thicker and _more_.

When they get home, Bucky corners Steve and spends a minute teasing him before they even kiss—brushing his lips across the bolt of Steve’s jaw, taking Steve’s earlobe between his teeth, leaning in like he’s going to seal their mouths together but maintaining an inch or two of distance. Steve eventually grabs Bucky’s face with a frustrated grunt and kisses Bucky hard. Bucky’s grinning because he thinks he’s won something and Steve pulls back enough to whisper, “Shut up” before he presses back in, licking across Bucky’s lower lip. For once, Bucky does.

They walk back toward the bed, taking each other’s clothes off and finally getting horizontal. They kiss and kiss and press as close to each other as possible.

Steve reaches for the lube, and this time he presses it into Bucky’s hand.

Bucky looks at it, then at Steve. “What do you…”

“I’ve been.” Steve feels the blush that sweeps down from his face to his neck. “I’ve been trying it. On myself, I mean. In the shower. It feels good.”

Bucky gapes. They’ve flirted with the idea of it, Bucky reaching down and circling a dry finger over Steve’s hole, and the stimulation of it when he’s already buried deep inside Bucky is usually enough to make Steve come. Hard. It’s why he got curious, it’s why he decided he wanted more, but he wanted it to be a surprise.

“Are you trying to tell me you’ve spread yourself open on your fingers,” Steve bites down on his lip, “and you’ve done it without me?”

Steve slides his hands up Bucky’s thigh, ghosts the pads of his fingers across Bucky’s nipples. “I wanted to see if I liked it.”

“You do, then?” Bucky says, not really a question at all, and there’s a wicked gleam in his eye. It should make Steve nervous, but mostly it just makes his mouth feel dry and his heart pound in anticipation.

“Yeah. Want you to, can you…”

Bucky shakes his head and clucks his tongue. “If you can’t even say it, Steve, we’re certainly not doing it.”

“Bastard,” Steve mutters, and he grabs Bucky and rolls them so Steve’s underneath, with Bucky positioned between his spread legs. “I want you inside me, Buck. Happy?”

Bucky grins but somehow, it isn’t the gloating smile Steve would’ve expected. Bucky flips the cap and drizzles a generous amount of lube onto his fingers.

“You can back out any time, Steve. I won’t give you shit for it.”

“I know you won’t,” Steve whispers, remembering how Bucky kept their first kiss a secret. Bucky teases mercilessly about most things, but not about the things that matter. It’s just one of the reasons Steve adores him.

Bucky goes slow, taking nearly ten minutes just to get his first finger all the way inside. Steve’s gotten up to three of his own fingers over the past few weeks, so he knows he can take more, but he can’t even bring himself to rush Bucky along. He squeezes the base of his own cock when Bucky bends his finger and Steve gives a hoarse shout, arching off the bed and saying, “There, shit, _Bucky_.”

Once Bucky’s got three fingers pumping steadily in and out, Steve rolls the condom on Bucky with teasing light strokes just to get even. Bucky takes Steve’s bottom lip between his teeth and bites. “You’re still a punk,” he says into Steve’s mouth. It makes Steve glow all over that Bucky remembers.

He wants to reply “and you’re still a jerk” but the words die somewhere in his throat when Bucky pushes in, and he’s so careful and gentle.

In this moment of completely giving himself up, of letting Bucky in, Steve knows Bucky could still kill him. During a few of Bucky’s panic attacks, he’s chanted, “I could hurt you, I could kill you,” somewhere between a warning and plea to make Steve understand, and Steve knows Bucky has visions flashing through his mind of just that— of punching Steve senseless the way he did before, of Steve not fighting back. But they’ve come so far and found each other, and Bucky envisions it less and less these days. At night, he holds Steve like he means it, kisses him like he’s sure of it, of them.  

And now, and _now_ ….

When Bucky’s pelvis is flush against Steve and he’s bottomed out, he kisses Steve softly, and it’s pure affection, and it’s redemption and victory— it tastes like _victory_ , it feels better than winning any mission Steve’s ever led in his life. He tells Bucky to move, and Bucky hikes one of Steve’s legs up beneath his metal arm (more strength that way) and begins to thrust.

It stings, but Steve knew to expect that, and Bucky’s trying so hard to make it good. He maintains a slow speed, steady and stubborn, and once he finds the angle that has Steve cursing, his nails digging into Bucky’s back, he keeps at it, determined like Bucky always is. Steve’s got one leg hitched around Bucky’s hip, and his other leg is pinned beneath Bucky’s arm so his knee is level with his chest, flat against the mattress.

Besides Bucky saying smarmily, “Didn't know you were so flexible,” they don’t speak. They kiss and Bucky clutches Steve to him while Steve clings on for dear life. Bucky’s been lodged deep inside Steve since day one, so it only feels fitting to have Bucky physically inside him where he belongs.

It’s over too soon. Steve knows Bucky nearly lost it just on that first thrust, and when Bucky somehow manages to balance enough to get his hand on Steve’s cock, Steve’s done for. His head falls back, breath coming out in a rush as he paints his chest with stripes of white. It feels like there’s static electricity prickling through his whole body, like the orgasm is coming from somewhere too deep to name. Bucky follows him a heartbeat later, burying his face in Steve’s neck, and even with the condom, Steve can feel it, can feel the pulse and the liquid heat. He groans, weak and exhausted and so damn happy. He’s got a foolish grin on his face. Bucky will make fun of him for it in a minute, but as Bucky collapses against him, unwinding his arm from beneath Steve’s leg—as they catch their breath and hold onto each other, Steve wants to freeze the moment. He wants the memory of this to last forever. He wants to hold onto the way their chests are slick with some combination of sweat and come, the way Bucky’s still half hard inside him and Steve’s still got one leg around his waist, not ready to let go just yet.

He memorizes every last detail so he can save it for a rainy day.

 

xXxXx

 

Bucky says to Steve over breakfast, “I want to get a job.”

Steve looks up from his newspaper, spoon halfway to his mouth.

“I want to pay for living here.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, it’s not like that. I own this place.”

“It’s Brooklyn. Brooklyn’s gentrified now. You may’ve bought it but you’re still paying a mortgage, right?” When Steve doesn’t answer, Bucky stares at him knowingly. “I want to do something. I need to contribute.”

“It’s fine if you want a job, but don’t do it because of me.”

Bucky thinks for a minute. “Do you think SHIELD wants me?”

Steve puts down the newspaper, reaches across the table to grab Bucky’s hand. “Yes. They’ve expressed interest, but they wanted to make sure—”

“That I’m not batshit crazy? That I won’t double-cross them?” Bucky tries to make it a joke but it falls flat.

“That you’re okay, Bucky. They want you to be okay. I threatened Fury with bodily harm if he tried to cajole you into doing anything you didn’t want to do.”

Bucky’s expression turns from dark to bemused. “That’s why he looks funny at the two of us.”

Steve shrugs. “I think he also has his suspicions about this.” He squeezes Bucky’s hand pointedly.

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“Why would it?”

Bucky cocks his head, his expression is something tender

“I think they’d let you on missions now, if you wanted. But—and I need you to be honest with me, Bucky—do you think it’s something you could do?” Bucky’s quiet, and Steve hastens to add, “Not that I think you’re incapable. Heaven knows you’re the best fighter of all of us.” Bucky grumbles a protest and Steve says, “Shut it, it’s true. I’m not asking if you’re physically ready. I don’t want you to be compromised. I couldn’t…” Steve has to clear his throat and scrape the words out. “Couldn’t bear if you ended up hurt because a memory surfaced and you hesitate, even for a second. A second is all it takes.”

Bucky mulls it over, his eyes fixed on the wall, and Steve’s thankful that Bucky’s actually self-evaluating.

When he speaks, his voice is barely audible, and he’s still not looking Steve in the eye. “I don’t like when you go on dangerous missions. I want to be by your side.”

Steve hadn’t even thought of that. He’s only gone on one or two since Bucky came back, and one of them was after they were living together in Steve’s apartment. Steve had made Bucky promise he’d call him if he needed him to come home, and they checked in every night. He was worried about Bucky; it hadn’t even occurred to him that it would go the other way, too. In hindsight, he should have realized.

“Are you ready for those sorts of missions?”

Bucky’s eyes dart around the room, then fix on Steve. “I think I can be, soon.”

Steve drags a thumb across Bucky’s knuckles. “Let’s make a deal. I won’t go on any more dangerous missions until you can come with me. Is that something you’d want to do? We can start small and work up to it.”

Bucky says, “Yes,” and then, “I think I could start small.”

Steve can’t help the slow smile that spreads on his face. The thought of Bucky by his side, fighting to keep each other safe just like they used to—it feels like everything’s as it should be. He doesn’t want Bucky to dive into anything before he’s ready, but Bucky’s gotten significantly better at knowing and articulating what he needs.

“Yeah. Let’s do that. I can— _we_ can talk to Fury. Sound okay?”

Bucky exhales. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.”

 

xXxXx

 

Fury wants clearance from Bucky’s therapist that he’s of sound mind. Bucky stands up straight, looks Fury in the eye and explains that he still has panic attacks, but he would not volunteer for the line of duty if he thought he would be a danger to anyone.

Fury doesn’t talk much, narrowing his eye and staring at Bucky. Bucky’s undaunted, though, and Steve’s bursting with pride at the sight of him like this—brave and open and honest, and he doesn’t shrink under Nick’s gaze.

Finally, Fury says simply, “Come by Wednesday to pick up your uniform. The next mission we have, you’ll be sent out.” Fury reaches out a hand to shake, and Bucky looks triumphant when he grasps Fury’s hand and Fury says, “Welcome to the team.”

 

xXxXx

 

Their first mission comes a few weeks later, and it’s straightforward, about as simple as it gets—they just have to take out a team of hackers that are attempting to wreak havoc on SHIELD’s security systems. They’re acting on their own; they’re definitely not sophisticated enough to be affiliated with Hydra. They’re not doing much harm. Tony compares them to pesky mosquitos, but they’re certainly annoying and they need to be stopped before they do any real damage. Mostly, they all just want Jarvis to stop complaining.

Steve knows that if they can just get one good mission under Bucky’s belt, it’ll put Bucky’s mind at rest, and he’ll feel significantly more confident going forward as part of SHIELD. Thankfully, this mission seems to be just what the doctor ordered.

Steve, Bucky, and Natasha are sent in, and Bucky seems grateful that there’s one more person onboard. Besides, he and Nat get along really well. The place is a warehouse in Kansas, barely armed. Bucky doesn’t flinch when the few guards posted outside start firing shots. He ducks, lets Steve hit one of them with his shield and when the other seems caught off guard, Bucky knocks him out with a metal fist to the head. Natasha complains that she doesn’t get to do anything, but she’s smiling approvingly. Steve and Bucky have always fought well side by side, and it seems like even after seventy years, they fall back into it effortlessly.

Once they get inside, it’s simple—they don’t need any information, they don’t need to save any data, so they just open fire at the technology, computers and monitors sparking and fizzling in protest. Most of the people inside are gawky men and a few women, certainly not trained for conflict or combat, and they immediately surrender. They had successfully hacked into the security systems of a nearby police station, so SHIELD turns them over to the local cops. Steve, Bucky and Natasha hop on a plane three hours after they were dropped on the ground in Kansas. It’s a one-and-done sort of mission, barely enough for any of them to crack a sweat.

Sitting in the belly of a cargo plane, Steve’s relieved to see there’s no sign of exhaustion or wariness on Bucky’s face. Bucky keeps meeting Steve’s eye and giving him the victorious grin that Steve remembers seeing so many times during World War II. Everything is exactly the way it’s supposed to be.

 

xXxXx

 

They end up going up against Hydra, all of the Avengers together.

Bucky’s the one who ends up engaging in combat with the current leader of Hydra. It’s a man he recognizes, apparently. He beats him within an inch of his life.

Steve doesn’t usually feel too great about killing people. He tends to go for non-lethal methods until he doesn’t have a choice. But when Bucky looks to Steve as he pulls out his gun, Steve nods. If this man had anything to do with the pain that was inflicted upon Bucky, Steve’s got a clear conscience about letting Bucky shoot him.

Bucky’s on top of the guy, straddling him, and they didn’t even find out his name before they went on their mission because it was too urgent. As this nameless man struggles beneath Bucky, Bucky’s got the gun pressed to his chest, and he takes a second. He’s got his left hand squeezing the guy’s throat, and he glances up at Steve one more time. Then he relocates his gun and shoots the man in the joint of his left shoulder. The guy cries out, writhing, and Bucky stands.

“That’s for your grandfather taking my arm.”

Bucky explains on the trip back that the man was a bastard descendent of Zola’s. Bucky doesn’t reveal his name, and none of them ask.

 

xXxXx

 

Steve and Bucky are finally alone after the debrief, as they walk into their apartment exhausted and filthy, blood and grime and God knows what else covering both of them from head to toe. “You could’ve killed him. It would’ve been justified.”

Bucky says, “I know,” then, “I don’t want more blood on my hands. Getting his shoulder still felt like revenge.”

Steve nods. Bucky’s come a long way.

Bucky runs the shower, beckons for Steve to come with him, and Steve says, “Nope, we’re going all out.” He tries to switch the water from the showerhead to the tap, to run a bath, and Bucky stops him.

“Let’s at least get the worst of this off first, so the water isn’t disgusting.”

They wash each other off slowly, sluggishly. Steve lets his head fall to Bucky’s collarbone and thinks of all the missions where he’s come home to an empty apartment. Steve never thought he’d get this; when he said that he didn’t want the American dream of two point five kids and a white picket fence, he meant it.

This, though—being able to come down from a high-pressure mission with someone else; having Bucky’s hands on him, stroking him, cleaning him off, purifying him—this is better. This is worlds better.

Steve’s bathtub is small; it’s not a grand jacuzzi like some of the ones at Stark Towers. They can’t stretch out all the way, they’ve got to fold their knees up. But Steve has some sort of bubble concoction that Nat gave him for his birthday. Steve had eyed her, and then it, suspiciously, and she’d laughed. “It’s a muscle relaxant. It’s good after missions, believe me.” She was right.

Bucky gives him all sorts of shit for pouring some of the stuff into the bathwater, but when he sinks down into it, he lets out a breathy moan.

Steve lowers himself into the water behind Bucky, who slides between his legs, leaning back against his chest. “Toldja it’s good,” Steve gloats, and Bucky opens an eye to glare up at him.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” he says, but Steve can feel Bucky going limp against him and he knows he’s won.

He presses his lips to Bucky’s temple and wraps his arms around his waist, and Bucky sighs.

“You did a good job,” Steve murmurs, and there’s a ghost of a smile on Bucky’s face.

“You too.” Bucky dips his metal fingers in and out of the water while his right hand absently strokes the skin behind Steve’s knee. “I’ve seen you in action since I came back, but man, seeing you in charge again like that, it was just like the old days. Except with better technology.”

Steve chuckles. “And thank God for that.” He drags his fingers back and forth across Bucky’s hip. “It’s good to have you back at my side again.” He presses his lips to Bucky’s hair. “It’s more than I’d hoped for.”

Bucky laces their fingers together, and he must be feeling especially drained because he doesn’t make fun of Steve for being an old sap. He just agrees with a quiet, “Me too.”

 

xXxXx

 

Steve, Sam, and Bruce talk the Avengers into Canobie Lake Park instead of Six Flags. Six Flags has better rides, so Tony whines for a little while, but there’s a cozier atmosphere to Canobie Lake. Plus, they did Six Flags for two years in a row.

Bucky and Steve ride the roller coasters side-by-side, both of them whooping with glee. They eat cotton candy until their mouths are blue and Sam takes it away from them, citing how bad the sugar is for their teeth. “Super soldiers or not,” he insists. Bucky rolls his eyes with a huff, but he doesn’t complain. His spirits are too high.

They take a group picture. They try to get a selfie, but even with Thor’s long arms, they can’t manage it. They get some pretty hilarious outtakes. They hand Tony’s phone over to a passerby, whose son recognizes them and hugs them all in turn after his dad takes the photo. He gets to Bucky and says, “I know you, too.” He touches Bucky’s arm with something like reverence, and Bucky sweeps him into a potentially rib-crushing hug, but the kid doesn’t seem to mind.

The last ride of the day is the Ferris wheel. Steve and Bucky get a car to themselves. It’s a full carriage-style car, so there’s plenty of room, but they sit squished together on one side, even if it means they’re tilted a bit.

They’re silent, taking in the sight of the amusement park lit up in front of them and the lake behind them. Then Bucky brushes Steve’s hand, pulls him into a kiss, and they make out for the next entire cycle around again. Natasha whistles from somewhere, and they laugh into each other’s mouths.

And all is as it should be.

 


End file.
